


Come in from the Cold

by HixyStix



Series: Cold 'verse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to ???, Happy Ending, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magical Star Wars Medicine, Mutual Pining, Post-Bahryn, Wet Dream, in a not-so-canonical way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixyStix/pseuds/HixyStix
Summary: The Empire never searched for Kallus's lost escape pod.  No trader ever found the transponder signal.  Alexsandr Kallus was alone and dying on Bahryn.Except the Spectres gave Kallus a second chance at life.Now he has to figure out what to do with it.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: Cold 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049573
Comments: 331
Kudos: 498





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whiplashcrash remains the world's best beta/brainstormer and you will not convince me otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a cover, thanks to the lovely [ElleTchi](https://elletchi.tumblr.com/)! Isn't it wonderful?

The only sign time passed at all was the movement of Geonosis through the sky of the ice moon. Kallus alternated huddling around the meteorite and trying to walk, trying to build up some body heat.

It wasn’t working. The cold was creeping in, insidious in its advance. He could no longer feel his fingers, his toes, or his face.

Surely, any minute now, an Imperial shuttle would arrive. He was ISB-021. He was _important_. They would search for him.

Walking was getting harder. His feet were entirely numb now, and the cold ate at his injured leg, making the pain sharper. He tripped over his own shoes, falling face-first into the snow.

Kallus made an effort to stand, or even just to sit up, but it didn’t work. 

They would find him. He knew they were searching for him. They would find the transponder’s signal.

All he managed to do was curl in on himself, trying to preserve the last vestiges of warmth.

Numbness spread through his body, and for a minute, he felt warm again.

The Empire would be there. They would find–

Blackness took over.

He returned to consciousness screaming.

His world was nothing but pain. He couldn’t feel anything but fire underneath his skin, burning everything, everywhere.

Vaguely, he was aware of someone speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Someone was trying to reach him; he swallowed his scream through sheer force of will.

Time passed, but he couldn’t be sure how long. he remained lost to pain and darkness.

Gray filled his vision as it first returned, slowly, the world still a blur. The fire dampened, becoming embers instead of a flame. His head cleared a little.

“–lus, calm down. You’re gonna be okay if you calm down. You’re not on the moon anymore–”

The voice. He knew the voice, even if he was having trouble comprehending the words. The voice meant… _something._ Anger and safety, violence and companionship. He didn’t belong with the voice.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t even remember his _name_.

Purple replaced the gray; hot pressure against his burning skin. He gasped. He tried, but couldn’t move.

No, he couldn’t _tell_ if he was moving or not and that was terrifying.

He blinked, but the world blurred further. Heat ran down his face in tiny tracks.

He was crying. He knew he _did not cry._ This couldn’t be happening.

“ _AGENT_!”

The word stilled his attempts at motion, though he couldn’t stop gasping for air, the oxygen combusting in his lungs. 

The word. The word was important.

The word was _him_.

He held onto that word, used it as a foothold in his scramble for sanity. He was Agent. Agent was him. He could start rebuilding from that point.

One step closer to himself, he realized he’d been wrong. Agent was a title, not a name. He was more than Agent.

Wasn’t he?

He was–

It wasn’t coming to him. He clawed his way deeper into his mind.

He was–

_He was Alexsandr._

His name was like a key. All of a sudden, Alexsandr _remembered._

There’d been cold, ice and snow and a golden meteorite that was his only hope.

No, not his only hope. There’d been… purple.

There’d been Zeb.

Alexsandr blinked again, realizing the world was still purple.

Zeb?

That wasn’t possible. Zeb had left him. Zeb had a home.

Alexsandr… didn’t. Alexsandr had an empty room.

Zeb had people. Alexsandr had loneliness.

Tears fell again, hot and agonizing and unbidden. Alexsandr squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop them.

“–okay. _Stop._ Yer okay, or you will be if you let us help. Agent Kal–”

 _Kallus_. That name belonged to Agent.

All the names belonged to him.

Agent.

Kallus.

_Alexsandr._

Agent Kallus was lost to the cold. 

Alexsandr was burning alive.

He gasped again, sucking in air despite the pain, digging down into his consciousness, trying to find the way out of his fiery prison.

Alexsandr focused on the purple, on the pressure against his skin. He pushed _into_ the burn, hoping for a way through.

He found it.

Drowning in air, he opened his eyes to see a face, only a little out of focus.

An alien face, yet so familiar. A face that should have invoked fear but filled Alexsandr with relief instead.

“Zeb,” he whispered, voice ragged and broken. He sagged, exhausted from fighting, eyes drooping shut once more.

“You know who I am. Good,” said Zeb, the sound of his gravelly bass a comfort. “Better ‘n five minutes ago.”

“Hurts,” Alexsandr said.

“Yeah, medics said you would. You were almost dead of hypothermia when we found you.”

There were questions that needed to be asked, but Alexsandr had used up almost all the mental energy he had.

“‘M not dead?” he managed. That one seemed most pertinent.

“Not yet,” Zeb said. “You gotta get better so we can finish our fight, remember?”

Alexsandr remembered. Agent Kallus had fought Zeb. It didn’t seem that important to Alexsandr anymore.

Not much seemed important at the moment. It was hard to keep his eyes open. It was hard to feel anything but pain. It was hard to think.

Alexsandr let go, let sleep take him, only vaguely wondering if he’d wake up again.

Somehow, even though he was barely breathing, Kallus looked alive again.

Alive didn’t mean _good_ , however. Despite Zeb’s somewhat limited knowledge of humans, he could still say with confidence that Kallus looked like bantha shit. 

Zeb had help figuring that out, of course. The sheer number of bacta patches they’d applied to Kallus since picking him up were a clue, as was his exposed skin: red, raw, and painful-looking.

But Zeb was inclined to think Kallus was sleeping at the moment, no longer in a hypothermic catatonia, because he looked better somehow.

Maybe. Maybe Zeb was seeing things. Maybe he needed sleep, too.

 _I don’t know that he’ll wake up. You should be prepared for that possibility,_ the Rebel medic had said as kindly as she was able, examining the unconscious Kallus via holo.

Zeb had prepared himself for that eventuality so seriously that he never thought to ask the medic what to do if Kallus _did_ wake up. None of the Spectres had really thought he would.

Kallus had been lying face down in the snow when Zeb found him, unresponsive and still beyond the point of shivering. There was no telling how long he’d been that way and if it hadn’t been for the slight clouds of breath out of his mouth, Zeb might have left him for dead.

Instead, he’d carried his enemy back to the _Ghost_.

Zeb liked to think of himself as uncomplicated. Sure, his past got a little messy, but the present was simple: fight the Empire, live another day.

Two days ago, his life had gotten complicated. Landing on that moon with Agent Kallus, not being able to kill him – _relying_ on him instead: that was way more than Zeb had ever wanted to deal with.

Leaving someone to die, however, was so far beyond the scope of what was reasonable for Zeb that his brain didn’t even think to argue against asking Hera to go back to Geonosis. It didn’t argue either when he had his arms full of ice cold Imperial, despite the fact that Kallus never would have thought to come back for Zeb. And it certainly didn’t argue when he plucked a feebly glowing meteorite from the snow.

Over the _Ghost_ ’s long-range holo, the Rebellion medic had carefully walked the Spectres through just enough emergency treatment to bring Kallus back to the land of the living – assuming there was enough fight in him to survive.

To her credit, Hera hadn’t even flinched when they used the best of their medical supplies on Kallus, the man who’d tried to kill her and her family two days before. They’d all carefully applied bacta patches – the strong stuff – to Kallus’s extremities: purple and black fingers and toes, ears and nose and cheeks that might or might not be too far gone to save. The bacta required regular changing, as bringing dead flesh back to life used up the bacta’s efficiency quickly.

That had been easy enough, if hard on their supply cache, but the medic said the real problem was Kallus. He’d been cold for so long his body was incapable of generating its own warmth, much less of returning to a reasonable temperature without help. Wrapping Kallus up in blankets wouldn’t help; they simply captured body heat. The Imperial didn’t have any.

Zeb’s fur – the reason every single one of the Spectres _and_ the holo of the medic had stared at him – had bristled at the mention of stripping down for prolonged skin-to-skin contact.

Ezra made some comment under his breath about how Zeb and Kallus had already sorta touched each other while fighting and while Zeb disagreed with that reasoning, his arguments weren’t as loud or angry as they might have been two days before. Before getting in that escape pod.

He hadn’t been filled with rage or contempt for the human. Kallus was quite literally at the mercy of him and the other Spectres, not in a position of power like he’d been most of their other interactions. Zeb had tried to tell himself he felt only apathy toward the man; a sense of duty and nothing more. It hadn’t been that either, however. It was… _complicated_.

Zeb hated complicated.

Under the intense, questioning gazes of his crew, including the crotchety old Rex, Zeb had sighed. They’d saved the Imperial at his request, so Kallus was his responsibility. Zeb carried Kallus back to his bunk.

Ezra had been unabashedly locked out.

Zeb had removed Kallus’s clothing before doing the same to himself, pulled blankets over them, and held the frigid agent tight against his chest, wondering where he’d gone wrong in life to end up in that position.

While trying to figure that out, Zeb dozed, trying to ignore how cold _he_ was getting as Kallus’s body leeched warmth from him. Hours later, he’d successfully managed to drift off when Kallus jerked back to life: screaming, twitching, trying to claw at himself with bandaged fingers.

Zeb _definitely_ hadn’t been prepared for any of that. 

Talking to Kallus cut off the scream, but nothing seemed to be getting through to him otherwise. Rolling Kallus over to face Zeb’s chest helped a bit more.

The door to the bunkroom slid open; Kanan and Hera stood there, worried looks on their faces as Kallus seized and cried. Zeb wanted to wave at them, tell them to leave, but the truth was he didn’t know what was going to happen and backup wasn’t bad.

They’d witnessed Kallus’s brief lucid period and subsequent collapse into sleep. Kallus was so deep under that he didn’t react when Zeb raised his head to look at Kanan and Hera. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“We’re docked with the fleet,” Hera said. “A medic’ll be here next time he wakes up.”

“But…?” Zeb knew that couldn’t be the full story.

“Commander Sato wants him to remain on the _Ghost_ – out of the cockpit – until we decide what to do with him,” Kanan answered.

_Until they decide whether or not to kill him anyway. Was there any use in trying to save him?_

“Doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere,” Zeb grumped.

Kanan cracked a smile at that. “You need anything, buddy?”

“Just my sanity,” Zeb said. His attempt at humor had a deadly serious core to it. It looked like Kallus was probably going to live, which brought a lot of questions with it – and Zeb didn’t want to think about most of those questions.

_Sato can’t let him see the fleet. He can’t even see the starfield outside unless he recognizes it and knows where we are. I guess we drop him off at the nearest Imperial outpost once he’s up to it._

_How long will it take for him to be ‘up to it’? How much healing will he still have left to do when we dump him? Will the Rebellion even let him live to return to the Empire? Will he be our prisoner or will he be executed?_

_If he lives, does this change anything for me? Does this change anything for **him**?_

Hera tossed him a small comm device. “Call when he wakes up again. That’s set straight for the med bay and they’re all prepared to come to us.”

Zeb tucked the comm under the pillow he shared with Kallus. “Thanks,” he said.

The door slid shut, leaving Zeb and Kallus in darkness again.

Sighing, Zeb maneuvered Kallus until the man was tucked up against Zeb’s front, one arm wrapped around Zeb. Zeb himself used one of his much larger arms to first pull up the blankets Kallus had knocked off and then to cover Kallus’s bare back, attempting to hold in heat.

Kallus was alive, and as incongruous as it seemed, Zeb was glad. He told himself it was pity, but the truth remained: Zeb’s life was complicated now.

The world still burned when Alexsandr woke a second time, but it was embers and ashes, not open flame.

There was darkness and Alexsandr feared he’d lost his sight and his mind again. He had enough presence of mind to note the heavy softness surrounding him and the noise of something big, breathing very close.

He tried to touch the wall of fur in front of him, but his fingers were clumsy and he couldn’t feel anything.

Alexsandr smelled lasat, however, strong and pungent, yet not entirely unpleasant. Zeb must be holding him.

 _Where am I? Why is Zeb here? What is he doing?_ _Why do I hurt so much?_

It dawned on Alexsandr that he was naked and, as far as he could tell, so was Zeb.

There was probably a reasonable explanation for it, but at that moment, it just made Alexsandr want to flee, want to hide. He couldn’t be this vulnerable in front of his enemies.

No, in front of _Zeb_.

Alexsandr tried to move, tried to push away, but large, powerful arms just held him tighter.

It made Zeb stir, however. “Kallus?” he mumbled, obviously still half asleep.

 _Kallus._ Right. He was _Agent Kallus_ to Zeb. Not Alexsandr.

Alexsandr was pushed to the back of his mind and Agent Kallus called forward. “Zeb,” he said carefully. “Where am I and what is going on?”

Zeb sat up a little and fumbled for something under the pillow. A comm; Kallus listened as Zeb called for a medic.

Alexsandr was grateful to hear that; he hurt and he wanted to feel better.

Agent Kallus just wanted answers.

“Why,” he asked sharply, “are we both undressed?”

Zeb moved his arm to reach for a light switch; Kallus used the freedom to back away to the edge of the bed.

The light came on and Kallus realized his peripheral vision was obscured. He brought up his hands to touch his cheeks and saw his fingers were completely bandaged.

Though the sight caused him momentary panic, Kallus was able to piece things together.

“The moon,” he said. “You came and got me from the moon before the Empire could.”

“Kallus,” Zeb said, sounding sad. “The Empire wasn’t coming for you. You were almost dead. If we hadn’t come when we did…”

“I didn’t ask for you to save me, Orrelios,” Kallus snapped. “I didn’t _need_ you to save me.”

“Right,” Zeb snorted. “Because being dead is better than being on a ship with me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Agent Kallus.

 _No,_ said Alexsandr.

“Karabast,” muttered Zeb. “You save a guy’s life multiple times, you think he’d be grateful.”

Kallus glared.

“You were different on the moon,” Zeb pointed out. “What happened to _that_ Agent Kallus?”

“I was delirious from the cold,” Kallus said.

“Sure.” Zeb shook his head. “Try to channel _that_ Kallus again and you’ll do a lot better here.”

“I thought you said your people would treat me fairly.”

“Fair don’t always mean nice,” Zeb said, grabbing Kallus’s shoulders and manhandling him until they were both sitting – and thankfully, both still covered by blankets. “The nicer _you_ are, the nicer my people will be.”

“You mean ‘the more complacent’, don’t you?” Kallus started to comb his hair out of his eyes, but found he couldn’t with the bacta bandages. Sighing in frustration, he tucked the blanket around his waist, covering himself better. He noted that his leg was still splinted, but with plasteel this time. _Where is my bo-rifle?_

Just in time, too, because the door slid open and a female human medic stepped inside.

She was young and looked nervous, especially when he glared at her. His Imperial reputation preceding him, even nude, he supposed. “Can I get these bandages off?” he snapped.

Kallus assumed she was used to belligerent patients, because the question seemed to send her back into competent medic mode. “Depends on what’s underneath,” she said firmly. “Tell me how you feel right now. In detail, please.”

Behind Kallus, Zeb moved around him, sitting next to him, a blanket also tucked around his hips. Zeb watched Kallus expectantly.

Sighing again, Kallus told the medic everything: how his skin felt like it was on fire, how he had a headache, how he was having trouble moving his fingers and toes despite being able to feel them, how breathing still hurt, how infernally hungry he was.

The medic nodded as she listened, waiting until he finished before commenting. “It sounds like the healing process is going normally. You’re lucky; someone as far gone as you were should be having more complications.” She glanced at Zeb. “Anything else I should know?”

Kallus felt a flare of indignation. He’d been honest and upfront and it bothered him that the medic would insinuate he lied.

Then again, he _was_ an Imperial amongst Rebels. It was probably wise of them not to trust him too much.

The medic moved closer, pulling up a storage crate to sit on. She removed bandages from Kallus’s cheeks and nose, examining the skin. “Huh,” she said. She undid the dressings on his fingers and ears and then made him drop the blanket so she could examine the rest of him.

He’d tried to protest, but she laughed. “I’m a medic,” she pointed out. “I’ve seen just about everything the galaxy has to offer. I promise you, you’re nothing special. Now, would you rather suffer a little embarrassment or potentially lose some parts I imagine you’re fond of?”

Kallus’s cheeks burned even more, but he removed the blanket. Zeb, thankfully, looked away.

The medic poked and prodded him even more, taking particular care with unwrapping the bandages on his feet. 

“The bacta’s working better than I supposed,” she explained. “Your skin’s purplish right now, but that’s better than black like it was. Means the blood vessels are working again. You’re not going to lose anything, but you are going to have some nasty-looking bruising for a while.”

“So I can have them off?” Kallus asked impatiently.

“I want to put new ones on for one more day,” she said. “See what kind of healing we get with that.”

Kallus looked down at his chest; it was red-looking as if it had been rubbed raw. Vaguely he recognized the outline of his cuirass on his skin.

The medic caught him looking. “The burning you feel is from the ice. Even the bits of skin that weren’t exposed got close to frozen. Your uniform wasn’t thick enough and wearing metal armor didn’t help you stay warm and probably did you more harm than good.”

Kallus managed not to roll his eyes. _Of course_ his uniform wasn’t thick enough. It hadn’t been made for those conditions.

The medic took his temperature. “You’re still a little low,” she said, “but not dangerously so. If you’ve got clothes to change into, you can put them back on. Keep a blanket with you, too. That is, if you want to move around; more sleep wouldn’t hurt you, either.”

When Kallus glanced his way, Zeb shrugged. _No idea where my clothes are, then. Great. Naked on a kriffing Rebel ship._

While the medic placed new bandages on Kallus, Zeb stood. Turning his back, he pulled on a jumpsuit.

“I’ll, uh, go find your clothes,” he said, slipping out the door.

The medic looked up at Kallus then. “From what I hear, he’s been watching out for you. This crew’s been putting up with some shit for saving you. Don’t know what you did to earn the rescue, but I hope you’re grateful.”

Kallus studied her. “You don’t seem upset that they saved me.”

“Got a cousin who’s ISB. Much lower ranked than you and much younger; you wouldn’t know him. But I’d hope someone would save him if he were in trouble. Maybe then he’d see the truth about the Empire and the Rebellion.” She sat back and patted his bare knee. “Maybe the same’ll happen to you.”

Her tone was thoughtful, not accusatory, and reminded him of nothing more than Zeb back on the ice moon. _“Chase the answers and maybe you’ll learn the truth.”_

Rebels. They were all determined to get him to question the Empire, weren’t they?

 _Maybe I should ask_ , came the small voice of Alexsandr, the small facet of him who trusted Zeb. _Maybe I should listen to the Rebels. They saved my life. The Empire never looked for me._

No. The Empire must have looked for him. Kallus was sure of it.

 _If they’d looked, they’d have found the transponder signal. They were long gone by the time the_ Ghost _picked up Zeb. I was dead already and didn’t even know it._

Rage welled up inside Kallus as he accepted the truth it all; a truth he’d tried to deny all along. The Empire didn’t view him as an essential agent if they didn’t value him enough to search for his lost escape pod.

If the Empire was willing to leave Kallus behind, to leave him to die… how could he remain loyal to them? That wasn’t the kind of government he thought he’d given his oath to. That he _wanted_ to give his oath to.

Agent Kallus had a lot to think about. 

But deep down, Alexsandr knew he had already made his decision.

Ezra did a double-take as Zeb entered the common room. “I thought you were on body heat duty. Did he die?”

“No, the medic is seeing him now. I was gonna get us both food if you didn’t eat it all.” Zeb frowned. “You didn’t eat it all, did you?”

Looking guilty, Ezra said, “Well, we’re out of waffles, but there’s some of that veggie stuff Kanan cooked last night.”

“That no one thought to bring me,” Zeb said with a huff.

“Oops.”

Zeb dug in the little cooler, pulling out enough leftovers for himself and for Kallus. “Where’re the others?”

“Hera and Kanan are off talking to leadership about your stray and Sabine thought she’d add some art to Sato’s walls while he’s distracted.”

While he reheated the food, Zeb pointed at Ezra. “You know you were a stray, too.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t an Imp and I didn’t try to kill you! Just steal from you,” Ezra protested. “And look at me now! I’m a proper Rebel!”

 _I wonder if Kallus could ever be a proper Rebel_ , Zeb wondered. _Probably not._

“I’m gonna eat and then go find Hera an’ the others,” he said. “Kallus is gonna be fine, it looks like, which means we need to figure out what to do with him.”

“Shoulda figured that out before we went back for him.” Ezra leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a datapad.

“I was a little more concerned with not committing murder by letting him freeze to death,” Zeb argued. “You should care about that stuff too, y’know.” He grabbed a fork and started eating.

“I’ll care more when it isn’t someone who’s tried to kill me.” 

“Fine. But you’re watching him while I’m gone.”

Ezra groaned. “Do I have to hang out with him?”

Zeb shrugged. “Just keep an eye on the room and get him something if he asks for it? And find his clothes, while you’re at it.”

“Ew, naked Agent Kallus.” Ezra made a face. “I don’t want to see that.”

“Then find his clothes!” Zeb called over his shoulder. When he went back into the living area, the door to his cabin was closed. He knocked before opening it. “Gotcha some food.”

The Agent Kallus that looked back at him seemed softer than before. Zeb thought that the downy blanket pulled tight around him might have had something to do with that. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank you for coming back for me. What possessed you to do such a thing?”

Zeb shrugged, watching Kallus scarf down the food. “I’ve seen how the Empire treats people who’re inconvenient. Heard horror stories from other Rebels, too. I had a sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t come back for you.”

“I don’t believe they ever looked,” Kallus said, forlorn.

“Yeah,” said Zeb sympathetically. “I don’t think they did either.”

“But you did.” Kallus looked straight at Zeb. “Why? Why did you go to such lengths to save me? That was a dangerous move on your part; what if the Empire _had_ still been there?”

“Then we’d’ve assumed you were safe and got out of there as quickly as we could.”

“You didn’t answer my question: why? Why you?”

Zeb sighed. “Look, we didn’t kill each other on that moon. I dunno if that makes us friends now or what, but I don’t think we’re enemies anymore. At least not like we used to be.”

Kallus nodded. “I agree,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to leave an enemy to freeze to death, so why would I leave someone who’s no longer an enemy?” Zeb crossed his arms. “I told you there; I’m not that kind of guy. If we’re going to fight again, it’ll be when you’re all healed up.”

“How long?” Kallus asked.

“How long what?”

“How long was I on that moon? How long was I unconscious? How long have I been away from the Empire?”

“Planning on going back?” Zeb had to admit, the idea made him a little disappointed. Why would Kallus want to go back to the Empire when he’d been abandoned?

Kallus didn’t answer. “How long?”

“We came back to the moon about a day and a half after I was picked up. And you’ve been out of it for nearly three days.”

Kallus ticked the days off on his fingers. “So, five days, give or take?” He slumped. “That’s too long. I can’t go back.”

“Why not?” Zeb frowned.

“Because more than a day or so and my superiors will assume I’ve been turned. I’ll be interrogated for what little I know and then disposed of.”

Zeb shook his head. “Karabast, and you willingly serve those people?” He took a step back. “Ezra’s getting your clothes and I’m gonna go talk to Hera an’ them. You stay here, okay?”

Kallus gestured at himself. “I’m naked and injured. I don’t see myself going far.”

“That’s good,” Zeb chuckled. “Sabine catches you streaking through the _Ghost_ , she might kill you and there goes the work I did keeping you alive.”

Kallus nodded, looking downtrodden again. “You were the only one willing to do that, weren’t you?”

“Well, it _was_ my idea and I got to warm you up ‘cause I run hot and I’m bigger ‘n you, but Hera gave up all our bacta patches to save your fingers and stuff. Kanan helped me convince everyone to go back. You aren’t as alone as you think.”

Silently, Kallus nodded. Zeb got the distinct impression he didn’t know what to say.

_Have people ever cared about him like that before? We hardly care and somehow we’re still better than the Empire._

_That ain’t right. Beings deserve better than that. Even Kallus._


	2. Chapter 2

Zeb wandered through the maze of docked fleet ships until he ended up on the _Liberator_ , Commander Sato’s flagship. Once on board, he pretty much just had to follow the sound of Hera’s raised voice to the bridge.

“But we’ve got Fenn Rau here and _he_ swore loyalty to the Empire. _He_ nearly killed me, which is more than Kallus has ever managed with my people,” she was saying. “You can hardly say Rau’s not dangerous.”

“ _Rau’s_ not ISB,” hissed a man Zeb recognized as a ground troop leader.

“Don’t let Sabine hear you say an ISB agent is more dangerous than any Mandalorian, much less the leader of the Protectors,” Zeb said as he walked up to the impromptu meeting.

“How is the patient?” Kanan asked, one hand on Hera’s back to help calm her.

“Alive and going to stay that way,” Zeb said.

“Good. We’ll keep him isolated and toss him back to the Empire as soon as possible,” said the ground trooper.

“About that,” Zeb started. Everyone looked at him expectantly. “He says if he goes back now, they’ll just torture him for information and then ‘dispose’ of him, which I think means kill him.”

Hera glared at the trooper. “If we send him back to the Empire, we might as well have left him on that moon. We are better than that!”

The ground trooper snorted. “You might be. I’d be fine with sending him back.”

Zeb crossed his arms and stared the mouthy trooper down.

Commander Sato spoke finally, his voice even and calming. “We do have multiple cells here on the _Liberator_. We can keep Agent Kallus here until a further decision is made.”

“What further decision?” asked Hera. “Whether we keep him prisoner forever or whether we kill him? Commander, we’re turning out no better than the Empire by keeping all these prisoners.”

“I understand your concern, Captain,” Sato said. “But we can’t have either Rau or Kallus walking around our ships. They are both dangerous men, smart and cunning. If given the opportunity, they could escape and take our information back to the Empire.”

“I don’t think Kallus _wants_ to go back to the Empire,” Zeb said. “They left him to die and he seemed pretty touchy about that.”

“We could drop him off in Hutt Space – or even on a Wild Space planet – and leave him there. He’d be a deserter from the Empire, which would keep him from returning to them and he wouldn’t be our problem anymore,” Rex suggested, breaking his silence.

Sato turned to Kanan. “He tortured you a year ago, did he not?”

“He assisted Grand Moff Tarkin,” Kanan confirmed. 

“He helped torture you and you still want to save him?” the trooper scoffed.

“If we killed him in battle or during an ambush, that would be one thing,” Kanan said. “But he’s at our mercy. Like Hera said, we’re no better than the Empire if we kill our prisoners.”

“Did Saari tell you what his recovery is going to look like?” Hera asked, focusing on Zeb.

“Saari?”

“The medic.”

“Oh!” Zeb shook his head. “I didn’t see her before she left. I’d gone to get food.”

Sato motioned to one of the bridge staff. “Lieutenant, please fetch Saari Vornen in the medical bay.”

The _Liberator_ was not a huge ship, so it didn’t take long for the lieutenant to return with Saari, but Zeb still had enough time to shoot down several suggestions from the rebel ground trooper to abandon Kallus to the mercy of the Empire.

“His prognosis?” she said after Sato asked about Kallus. “Well, he’s got a while before he’ll be at full strength, but I think in a day or so, he’ll no longer need direct medical attention. I just need to keep an eye on the damaged tissues to make sure the bacta repairs took.”

Sato nodded. “I believe our best option is to keep him on the _Ghost_ for the time being rather than try to transfer him to the medical bay. After he’s out of medical danger, we’ll move him to a cell.”

“Great, Fenn Rau and Agent Kallus together where they can conspire against us,” muttered Rex.

“Rex!” fussed Hera.

The clone held his hands up. “I just don’t want those two causing any trouble.”

Zeb turned his attention to Sato. “So those are our orders? He’s stuck with us until he’s better?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sato asked.

 _Do I?_ Zeb stalled for a moment. _Would I rather see him in a cell right away? Or do I want to see if I can get through to him first?_

“No,” Zeb said. “Just don’t wanna be the one to tell Ezra he’s kicked out for a few more nights.”

There was a bit of an awkward moment at the unspoken implication: that Ezra and Rex would be in Kanan’s cabin while Kanan spent his nights with Hera. It wasn’t like he didn’t share a bedroom with her normally, it just _wasn’t talked about_ among the Rebels at large.

Saari caught Zeb before he could leave. “You’ll be watching him, right?”

“Yeah,” Zeb said. “Do I need to do anything special?”

“Make sure he doesn’t take the bacta patches off, okay? He could still lose fingers and stuff if we don’t keep the bacta going on them.” She dug in a bag at her side and handed Zeb a roll of bandages. “Here. In case you need them. I’ll try to stop by when I can to check.”

Zeb frowned as he took the bandages. “You’re about the only one around who doesn’t seem disappointed that he’s here.”

Saari laughed. “Well, some of that is being a medic and having to focus on patients rather than the big picture. Others of it, well, let’s just say I like to believe even the most hardcore Imperials can be brought around to the truth.” Zipping up her bag again, she glanced back at the group still gathered around Sato. “Keep trying, okay? No matter what they say. You went this far to save his life, now save him from himself.”

Saari’s advice caught Zeb off-guard. He wanted to ask her _how_ he was supposed to save Kallus from himself, but she left as soon as she quit talking.

Zeb shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. Even if medics were dropping oddly sympathetic suggestions, he still had to go deal with Kallus the Imperial prisoner, as well as Kallus the man.

The very moody man. There was no telling what sort of state Zeb would find Kallus in; he’d already been all over the charts in the short time since Kallus had woken up.

Time to go find out.

It was easier to face the world with his uniform back on, Alexsandr noted. It would be even easier to slip back into being Agent Kallus, but Alexsandr held on to that not quite too hardened side of himself. The Rebels he’d interacted with so far had been kind to him. Sarcastic, in the case of the Bridger brat, but kind. He’d been provided with food and a sonic and a cleaned uniform – although his armor was missing from said uniform.

That meant something, right? In just a few hours of being awake, he’d received more consideration than he ever had in the Empire.

_But the Empire brings order and peace. These Rebels bring anarchy and unrest. They can’t possibly be in the right._

Even as he thought them, those knee-jerk statements felt like he’d read the words in a book rather than coming up with them himself. They didn’t feel as natural anymore, not like they were from his deep sense of morality. But Kallus had summoned them from that very part of himself for years. He knew what was right and wrong and everything he knew said the Rebels were wrong.

 _They cared enough to come back for you,_ he reminded himself. _They cared enough to save your life when you are their enemy._

Alexsandr slumped where he sat on Zeb’s bunk, discouraged. He was going around in mental circles, stuck in the same repetitive thoughts throughout the entire morning. 

The logical thing would be to attempt to discern what the Rebels planned to do with him in the long run. Would they imprison him? Torture him for information? Execute him when they’d bled him and his extensive but not unlimited knowledge dry?

That’s what the Empire would do with any of these Rebels – and with him, if he tried to go back to Konstantine’s Destroyer.

It’s what the Rebels would do, if they were smart.

Alexsandr found himself hoping the Rebels were more principled than they were intelligent. He’d rather like to stay alive, since he’d survived that wretched ice moon.

The door slid open and Alexsandr sat up straight, barely missing hitting his head on the top bunk. 

Zeb stood there, expression, well, _alien_ and unreadable. “Hey,” he said. “Got your clothes back, I see.”

Alexsandr eyed him warily. “I’m still missing my armor and my bo-rifle.”

“And you really think we’re giving you either?” Zeb chuckled, loosening up a little. “Kallus, you better think again.”

He hadn’t really thought he’d get any of his belongings back, but Alexsandr would have liked some hint as to where they were stored. “Did you talk to Commander Sato?”

Zeb gave him a questioning look and Alexsandr rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Zeb, I know the names of your leadership. All you Spectres, too. That’s my _job_.”

“Y’know, I’m not really surprised,” Zeb said. “Since you knew my name an’ all.”

Alexsandr tried to keep eye contact with the lasat, but Zeb’s gaze was piercing. It felt like he was looking inside, seeing the turmoil within Alexsandr.

“So,” Zeb said after a minute, “you’re gonna stay here for now, with me. You can go anywhere on the _Ghost_ except the cockpit. Saari, the medic, is gonna keep coming here to check on you until she’s satisfied, which means you’re not gonna lose any toes or anything.”

“And?” asked Alexsandr after Zeb had been quiet a few moments. “After that?”

Zeb slouched a little. “You’re gonna be detained on Sato’s ship.”

“Until?”

“I don’t know.” Zeb looked away. “You won’t be the only one there. We got a Mandalorian in the cells, too. Dunno if you’ll get along.”

Alexsandr frowned. Imprisonment was probably his best possible outcome, so he wasn’t upset about that. Zeb, though. “And this bothers you?” Alexsandr guessed.

Zeb nodded once, but kept his mouth shut.

“How many of them wanted to execute me straight out?”

Zeb turned to Alexsandr, brow furrowed. “Kallus, we don’t–”

“This is war. Of course that was on the table,” Alexsandr reasoned.

Watching the disappointment in Zeb’s eyes, Alexsandr knew he’d been right. “Just one, really,” the lasat said. “Though there was also talk of dumping you on a backwater somewhere and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Alexsandr looked at his bandaged hands. “As long as it’s warm, I suppose.”

“That’s not happening,” Zeb said, as surely as he’d said it on the moon. “We’ll figure something out that doesn’t involve killing or abandoning you.”

Alexsandr laughed hollowly. “Zeb, as much as I appreciate your concern, either of those might be better for me than to spend the entire war in a small cell, forgotten about except to be hosed down every few days.”

Zeb’s frown deepened. “Kallus, I told you, we’re not the Empire. We don’t treat prisoners like you do.”

“Alexsandr.”

“What?” Zeb looked confused now.

“My name is Alexsandr. You can call me that instead of Agent or Kallus.” Alexsandr shrugged, answering Zeb’s inevitable next question. “You told me your name. Only fair you know mine, especially if you’ve got to watch me the next couple of days.

Zeb looked at Alexsandr curiously, as if he’d never considered that an ISB agent could have a given name. “How about Kal?” he suggested. “I dunno if I can picture you as an ‘Alexsandr’.”

Alexsandr nodded. ‘Kal’ would be… interesting to get used to, but it let Zeb keep his distance. Handy if the Alliance changed their minds and executed him. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He eyed Zeb. “So I’m allowed out of your room?”

“Yeah. Said that, didn’t I?” Zeb stepped aside, out of the doorway. “Can you walk?”

“According to my efforts in here, I’m a little wobbly but I can stay upright.”

“Should see if I can get you a cane or somethin’,” Zeb muttered.

“My bo-rifle would work fine,” Alexsandr suggested.

Zeb shot him down exactly as Alexsandr had expected. “Not happening, _Kal_.” The lasat held a hand out to Alexsandr, offering to help him up.

Alexsandr marveled, once again, at how long Zeb’s arms were, how muscled they were, and just how large his hands were. Zeb’s comment about crushing his head back on the moon had been no idle threat. Lasats were, objectively, a dangerous species, as Alexsandr had cause to know.

And yet, Zeb’s offer carried no threat of violence.

Alexsandr put his hand in Zeb’s and let himself be pulled to his feet. His balance was off-kilter and his toes hurt when he put pressure on them; he supposed that was better than no pain at all.

To his surprise, Zeb didn’t let go as soon as Alexsandr was standing. He held on while Alexsandr took the first few tentative steps out into the ship.

Earlier, he’d hobbled through the living area to the refresher, but he’d been too focused on walking to really _look_ at the interior of the ship he’d been chasing for so long. It wasn’t nearly as neat or organized as an Imperial cruiser, but it _was_ clean. The Spectres apparently cared for their ship quite well.

Zeb led him past the refresher into a common area, where the two younger Spectres sat, staring at him.

“You almost look like an Imperial again,” said Wren, a slight sneer on her face.

No, wait. It wasn’t a sneer; Alexsandr just expected to receive one. She was actually giving Zeb a small smile.

She couldn’t be giving _him_ one.

“I like you much better like this,” Bridger said. “No weapons, not trying to kill us, and I know I could outrun you now.”

Alexsandr pulled free of Zeb and found a seat along the wall. “Where _is_ my bo-rifle?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Safe,” said Zeb. “Along with mine and all the blasters. You’ll get it back someday. In the meantime, I’ll take care of it.”

That was probably the most information he was going to get for now, so Alexsandr nodded. Alexsandr had no idea how he might get his bo-rifle returned, so he dismissed Zeb’s words as a slip-up. There was no way Zeb would willingly return a weapon the lasat himself didn’t believe Kallus deserved. Zeb had said as much on the moon. From the sound of things, Alexsandr would be lucky if he even remembered what a blaster looked like after everything, much less his bo-rifle. He certainly wouldn’t be as proficient as he was currently.

Alexsandr noted that Bridger’s lightsaber/stun blaster combination still hung at his waist; apparently the Jedi hadn’t had to give up their weapons.

Agent Kallus’s instinct was to immediately start looking for ways to get the lightsaber, to fight his way out, maybe get to that small shuttle the Spectres used.

Alexsandr knew there wasn’t anywhere to go even if he escaped, so he settled back into the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. He still listened, however. Next to him, Wren’s breathing was short; she probably was uncomfortable with him in the room. Bridger was pushing buttons on the game table, the machine beeping with each selection he made.

And Zeb. Zeb sat down on Alexsandr’s free side. “You need more food? Anything?”

Alexsandr opened his eyes, bristling a little. “Just… show me where everything is and I can take care of myself.” _Don’t hover. I have two days of semi-freedom. I don’t need to be doted on; I can handle this on my own._

“Don’t want you to get hurt worse,” Zeb said. He indicated himself, Wren, and Bridger. “We gotcha.”

It was obvious that being polite as Alexsandr wasn’t getting his point across, so he let himself channel the stern voice of Agent Kallus again: all frowns and proper posture and no patience for coddling. Kallus stood. “I am _fine_ , Orrelios. Just leave me alone.”

As smoothly as he could manage, Kallus tested his boundaries, climbing the ladder to the platform overlooking the hold. He held onto the railing and squeezed as tightly as he could manage.

Pain shot through his hands, but pain was good. Pain meant he was alive and, for the moment, relatively free. _If that kriffing lasat would let me handle myself. Bad enough I need him to change bandages, but I’ll be damned if I can’t feed myself._

Staring into the hold, he noticed it was mostly empty. The Spectre’s droid C1-10P puttered around down there, fiddling with some connection port. 

Up here, Kallus could think. The inevitable loss of freedom loomed over him like a certain lasat had done for days. As frustrating as it was to endure the suffocating do-good Rebel attitude on the _Ghost_ , Kallus suspected Zeb knew what he was talking about. If Kallus was pleasant toward those Rebels – no matter how his dominant Imperial side protested – he might not be trapped forever. Perhaps he’d even convince them not to toss him back on that frozen moon without a care for his well-being. Maybe he’d get to help pick the deserted planet.

Pleasant was the order of the day. Agent Kallus could be pleasant. He could be anything the situation required.

It’d been the only way he’d survived this long.

Rolling onto his stomach, Zeb let an arm dangle from the top bunk. He was exhausted, but sleep had eluded him so far.

Kallus slept below him, breathing evenly.

Zeb didn’t get it. He’d done everything he could possibly think of to take care of Kallus. He’d tried to make him comfortable – well, as comfortable as someone could be while recovering from severe hypothermia and dealing with the fact that Kallus’s people left him to die.

Every now and then, Zeb had gotten a glimpse of someone else behind that harsh ISB agent exterior. He’d seen it on Bahryn – he had looked up the name of the moon at Kallus’s behest, since they couldn’t let him use a datapad or holoportal – and he’d seen it when Kallus had been at his most vulnerable.

But at some point during the day, Kallus had shut down. Nothing anyone said seemed to get through; he was every inch the cold Imperial agent he’d been for years once more.

Zeb wished he knew how to dial back to the more open Kallus who’d been happy to see him when he first woke up.

Something hit his dangling hand. “Get your arm out of my face,” said Kallus, sounding very much awake.

Zeb pulled his arm back. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you or have you been awake this whole time?”

A contemplative silence. “I’ve been awake,” Kallus admitted. “Every time I sleep, I dream of Bahryn.”

“Ooh, that’s tough.” Zeb maneuvered himself onto his back, staring at the spot on the ceiling where Ezra had pasted some posters. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but Zeb knew they were there. “Anything I can do to help? I make a mean cup of tea, according to Hera.”

Below him, Kallus grunted. “I’m _fine_. If I want something, I know where your kitchen is.”

“But you don’t have to, is the point. You shouldn’t be walking so much.” Zeb frowned at the ceiling.

“Believe it or not, Zeb, I got by just fine for years before we landed on that moon together.”

Kallus’s words were sharp, but there was something in his voice, a tiredness perhaps.

“Kal, got a serious question and I want a serious answer.”

No answer came from the bottom bunk. Zeb took that as agreement.

“Do you even know how to let people help you?”

“Of course I–”

Kallus’s words were cut off by the sound of running feet in the hall. “Hold that thought,” Zeb said, jumping down from the bunk. He palmed the door controls and it slid open to reveal two of the Phoenix Cell security beings entering the living area. 

Hera stood at the door to the hold overlook. “Good, you’re awake, Zeb,” she said. “And Agent Kallus. We’ve been called on a rescue mission, so I’m afraid you’re moving to the _Liberator_ sooner than originally planned.”

With an apologetic look, Hera motioned for Zeb to stand aside while Security took Kallus.

“No!” Zeb protested. “Saari said he needed to be watched for a couple more days!”

“Zeb,” Hera said calmly, “we’ve got a mission. He can’t come. You can see if you can negotiate something when we get back.”

Kallus didn’t fight the Security beings, so they walked him off instead of dragging him. Zeb saw the hunch of his shoulders, though, and knew the man hadn’t been ready for imprisonment. Hadn’t mentally prepared himself, wasn’t physically ready either.

Zeb hadn’t been, either.

The _Liberator_ ’s cells were relatively spacious, with a bed and a bench that could be used at a pull-out table and small refresher facilities behind the bench. If Kallus had to be imprisoned somewhere, there were certainly worse places.

But imprisonment, even in a palace, was still imprisonment. Kallus had lost his agency and was totally at the mercy of the Rebels for the foreseeable future. Perhaps for the rest of his life.

The ray shield activated behind him, locking him in the room. After double-checking the door controls, Security left him there.

Kallus stood and looked around the room that would be his new home.

“What have we here?”

Looking across the way, Kallus saw the Mandalorian Zeb had mentioned, locked in his own cell. Kallus’s eyes narrowed. “Fenn Rau,” he said tightly.

“Agent Kallus,” Rau said lightly. “Funny seeing you of all Imperials get captured by these Rebels. Although if the rumors are true, you were rescued more than captured.”

“I _could_ say that same about you,” Kallus said. “Your Protectors will need rescuing when the Empire learns you’re here.”

“They haven’t learned that yet and I intend to keep it that way. Do they know _you’re_ here?” Rau asked, ignoring Kallus’s taunt.

 _They think I’m dead._ “No.”

Rau sat back down on the bed. “Something tells me the Empire would care much more about my disappearance than they have bothered to care for yours, Agent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to sleep.”

 _…than they have bothered to care for yours…_ The words echoed in Kallus’s mind and he knew they were true. He knew that if they were aware of Rau’s capture, the Empire might send a team to extract Rau so they could continue to exert control over his Protectors, but they hadn’t even sent a drone to search for Kallus.

The lights in the hallway shut off, the only light the faintly glowing red ray shield trapping him in the room. Kallus crawled onto the bed and tried again to sleep. It was difficult; the thin blanket on the bed was barely enough to provide any warmth and Kallus wanted to bask in all the heat possible these days. He figured out that if he doubled the blanket over and laid very still, the blanket would cover most of him.

Maybe if he got a chance to talk to Zeb or a Spectre again, he could request another blanket. Maybe they’d be willing to grant him that comfort. Maybe…

Kallus jerked awake a few hours later when the lights came back on. He sat on the bed, rubbing his arms against the cold. The memory of his dream was disappearing rapidly, but he recalled being held by Zeb again, warm and, well, _safe_.

He shook his head. That wasn’t his life. His life was this cell and telling time by the arrival of meals.

Kallus sat there all day, coming up with complex scenarios in which he broke out and escaped, but each time there was nowhere he could go after stealing a ship. Maybe he could hijack the _Liberator_ ’s bridge, take Commander Sato hostage and bring the whole Phoenix Cell to the Empire as a peace offering.

It wasn’t plausible, however, and his conscience ate at him for even considering turning in the people who saved his life. Who cared when they didn’t have to.

Zeb showed up after dinner, a box in his hand. “Hey, Kal,” he said.

Kallus looked up from his spot sitting on the bed. “Zeb,” he said with a nod. “Come to see the cell?”

“No.” Zeb punched in a code and the ray shield dropped for two seconds, allowing Zeb to enter the cell. He plopped the box on the table; a well-worn tabletop version of moebius. 

Kallus frowned slightly. Moebius was a game like dejarik that made you think several moves ahead and, under normal circumstances, Kallus was quite good at that.

“Figured you were probably bored, so I thought I’d visit. D’you like moebius? We got a coupla other games if you don’t.”

“Moebius will do,” Kallus said.

“Good.” Laying out the board and the pieces, Zeb started chatting as if he was a friend catching Kallus up on the news of the day. He talked about their mission – a supply convoy come under Imperial attack – but Kallus noted he was careful not to give away any location or route information.

“Zeb,” he interrupted. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. Didn’t want you to die of boredom.”

“No, I mean the truth. Why come see me?” Kallus leaned forward on the table. “What possessed you to come back for me in the first place? You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you’d just stayed away. There is _no logical reason_ for you to have saved me.”

Zeb stopped and stared at the game board. After a few moments, he admitted, “I don’t know, Kal. I told you it was my honor not wanting you to die, but I think I’d’ve gone back for you no matter what. I needed to know you were alive.”

“If the Empire had picked me up, I’d be hunting you today.” Kallus tried to catch Zeb’s eye, keenly aware Rau was across the hall, listening intently.

“You would have,” Zeb agreed. “But that’s what makes us different. You care about order. I care about what’s _right_.”

“The Empire is _right_ ,” Kallus argued. “We provide order, yes, but also security against your sort of anarchy. Citizens are taken care of, as long as they’re loyal. There are paths to success for everyone in the Empire.”

“Every human,” Zeb said. “Don’t get that part wrong. Your Empire isn’t so great for us non-humans. ‘Order’ just means death for us. Just like at Lasan.”

Kallus watched Zeb closely, wondering what he was thinking when he mentioned Lasan. He’d said it was behind him, back on that moon, but could he really ever put it behind him?

“Let’s play,” Zeb said, brushing off the previous conversation.

Such was the coming of Zeb to Kallus’s cell. Every night – or every couple nights if there was a mission – Zeb showed up with a board game, peppering Kallus with questions that hit home.

Agent Kallus was beginning to waver.

Only a little; he was still a prisoner of the Rebellion, but Zeb was astute and seemed to sense the chinks in Kallus’s mental armor. He picked at them until more and more of Alexsandr bled through.

Zeb wasn’t always alone. Saari the medic came by daily before pronouncing him healthy enough to stop wearing bacta patches all over his body, even if he still appeared to be severely bruised. Sabine played cubikahd with Rau while Zeb and Kallus talked. Sometimes Kanan joined in for multiplayer games. Hera visited as well, though never for as long as the others. 

One day, Ezra snuck him some holonovels, though they were all trashy romances way too risqué for a teenager.

“Jabba,” he said, using the boy’s absurd pseudonym. “Do I even want to know how you got these?”

“Nope!” Ezra saluted facetiously and ran off grinning.

All the attention baffled Kallus. The Spectres acted like they cared about him. Like his happiness mattered to them.

Like he wasn’t their prisoner.

Zeb sighed one night, before putting the moebius board away. “Kal, it’s gonna be a few days before I’m back,” he said. “We’re going on a longer mission away from the fleet.”

Kallus’s heart fell. He’d come to look forward to his two hours of socialization each day. “Understood,” he said. “Off to kill more Imperials like me?”

Zeb looked wounded. “We don’t _try_ to kill anyone, but if they’re shootin’ at us…”

“And in the end, that’s going to be your downfall,” Kallus said. “The Empire plans to wipe you out completely. You want to play nice. It won’t work. You’re going to have to get blood on your hands, Zeb.”

Shuddering, Zeb packed the game up. “I just wanted you to know where I’ll be. I’ll tell you what I can when I get back.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Kallus said quietly, already feeling lonesome.

Zeb reached out, but stopped before touching Kallus’s shoulder. “I’ll be back, Kal. Before you know it.”

Kallus laughed hollowly. Before Zeb left the cell, he found himself blurting out something that had been unimaginable two months ago. “Take care, Zeb.”

Three days passed with no Zeb, no visitors at all. Kallus was left to talk with Fenn Rau, something neither of them was keen on.

Then, on the fourth night, Kallus got a visitor.

The buzz of the ray shield faltered for a couple seconds, getting Kallus’s attention as he laid on the bed, trying to sleep. He sat up and saw a complete stranger: a woman in a gray cloak with the hood up. It was difficult to make out her features in the dim light.

“Alexsandr Kallus,” she said, gently.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m better known as Fulcrum, my codename.” The woman lowered her hood. “But you can call me Ahsoka.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there's ART for this chapter? Check the end notes for a link!

Kallus didn’t know the togruta woman, hadn’t seen her pass through the brig of the ship before, hadn’t heard of ‘Ahsoka’ before.

But he knew Fulcrum.

He peered at her intently, wondering how this alien woman had managed to uncover so many of the Empire’s secrets. She would have stood out among all the humans. “So _you_ are the spy?” he asked.

“I am,” she said calmly. “And you are the ISB agent who has everyone in such an uproar.”

 _Not much of an ISB agent anymore, am I?_ “An uproar?” he checked, cocking his eyebrows.

“There are still those in the fleet who think keeping you is pointless. Your friend Hera has done a lot of arguing on your behalf.”

Kallus pressed his lip together into a small line. He saw where this was heading and tensed, gearing up for a fight. “And you’re here to get rid of me while the Spectres are gone.”

Ahsoka laughed. “No, Alexsandr, I am not. I am here to speak with you and to attempt to find out why the Spectres are so illogically protective of you.”

 _Oh._ Kallus unclenched his fists and relaxed his muscles. “I couldn’t say.”

“I think you will.” Ahsoka smiled softly. “Just not in so many words.”

Kallus studied Ahsoka, sitting patiently across from him. She had an intensity about her, no less fiery because she was quiet or still.

Over the course of his career, Kallus had worked with many powerful beings. Moffs, Inquisitors, even Darth Vader himself. He’d not let himself be intimidated by any of them.

Ahsoka was a little intimidating, though that might have been because he’d been stewing in a brig cell for two months and wasn’t at his best.

That needed to change. He needed to get his footing again. Kallus maintained eye contact, waiting for his visitor to ask a question.

“What happened on Bahryn?” Her voice was gentle, but carried with it a command to answer fully. “What happened between you and Zeb?”

Kallus thought a moment, idly scratching the full and uneven beard that had grown since he’d last been allowed to shave. “We had to rely on each other,” he said. “It was necessity, not choice. Neither of us would have made it alone.”

“There was more to it than necessity, wasn’t there?” she prompted.

Locking eyes with her again, Kallus shook his head. “No. There wasn’t,” he said with certainty. “If I’d been able to get myself out of that cave, I would have killed him.”

“But you couldn’t save yourself. You accepted Zeb’s help.”

“I wanted to live.” Kallus blinked and looked away. “There was a moment, when I was out of the cave and he was still in danger, where I could have killed him. I thought about it. At the time, I still firmly believed the Empire would come for me.”

Ahsoka nodded. “But you let him live.”

“I not only let him live, I helped him out of the cave.” Kallus sighed, realizing his own protests were crumbling. “For some unknown reason, I let him live.”

“The Empire would disapprove.”

 _Like I don’t know that. The Empire would have my head as a traitor if they knew. If they cared enough about me to know._ Kallus didn’t say anything.

Ahsoka tried a different tack. “No reason is unknown, not really. Try to remember what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking, ‘it’s kriffing cold out here and I need his body heat to survive’,” bit out Kallus.

His answer wasn’t meant to be amusing, but Ahsoka laughed anyway. Kallus found himself a little offended.

“You let him live because something deep inside of you said it was right, I think,” Ahsoka said. “The Empire didn’t quite ground out your sense of morality, did they?”

“The Empire would do no such thing,” Kallus protested, steadfastly ignoring the resonance he felt with Ahsoka’s words. “The Empire _is_ moral. It’s above morality. It’s keeping the galaxy from falling to anarchy.”

Ahsoka shook her head a little. “Take a moment and think about it, Alexsandr. Why did you save Zeb’s life when you made it out of that cave? Why did you help him? I think you already know the answers.”

Kallus was left dumbfounded as Ahsoka made her exit from the cell. He didn’t know who this Ahsoka was, but she was perceptive in a way that was eerie. He stood before she left the brig. “Hey!”

She turned around. “Yes?”

“Did you figure out why the Spectres saved me like you wanted?”

“I believe I did,” she said. “Have you?”

Kallus leaned against the wall by the ray shield. “No,” he admitted.

“You’ll discover the reason yourself when you answer my questions,” she said.

And that was it. Ahsoka was gone, leaving Kallus in the dark. Not quite alone in the dark – Fenn Rau was always there – but alone in his cell, alone with his thoughts.

Kallus didn’t want to be left there. It wasn’t a hospitable place to be.

“What are you reading this time, Kallus?” Rau asked, across the hall.

Kallus leaned over a little from his spot on the bed so he could see Rau. He held up the holonovel’s cover for the Mandalorian: a human embracing a Shistavanen. It was one of the small stack of reading materials Ezra kept bringing him, each more lascivious than the last. They’d worked it out with the guards that Rau could read them when Kallus finished.

“It’s a nasty one. You’ll like it,” Kallus said. He scanned ahead a few pages. “And it only gets nastier.”

“Read it aloud.” 

Kallus eyed Rau and laughed. “No.” Rau had gotten in the habit of reading the worst bits of the novels out loud, trying to embarrass Kallus and their guards. The recitations were entertaining and passed the time, but Kallus hardly wanted to participate.

Rau leaned close to his ray shield. “Come on, Agent. You’re not _that much_ of a prude, are you?”

“I’m hardly a prude.” Kallus rolled his eyes. “You’re reading the same things I have, with a straight face.”

“Ah, but can you read it aloud with a straight face?”

“I said no, Rau.”

“I don’t think you can do it.” Rau crossed his arms and leaned back. “That Imperial training has you too uptight.”

“And Mandalorians aren’t uptight?”

Kallus and Rau stared at each other for a bit, Kallus using his most imperious expression. He wasn’t proud of it, but the amount of time spent in each other’s company had turned both men casually antagonistic and crude toward the other.

Rau broke first, but didn’t back down. “Just read the snarkin’ thing, Kallus, you she’buy’ce.”

Sighing, Kallus picked up from where he’d left off reading. It would have been simple to use his familiar indifferent drawl, but he dared to read in a richer, more lively tone, his voice pleasantly filling the nearly empty brig.

“ _Baring his fangs and narrowing yellow-green eyes, Zytak loomed over Markus, lust dripping from every inch of his muscular form. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this, human.’_

_“’You only chased me across the entire Uvena system,’ Markus retorted, canting his hips up to press himself against the Shistavanen. Bare skin rubbed against coarse fur and sent shivers down Markus’ spine. He’d been running so long, and for what? Everything he desired was now here just waiting to claim him._

_“And claim he did, as with a low growl, Zytak pierced Markus with his thick brown cock, slotting into place forcefully. Markus screamed out in pleasure and pain, and Zytak licked a long stripe down the willing man’s chest, ‘That’s it, take all of me.’”_

“Am I interruptin’ something?”

Kallus startled, dropping the holonovel. Sitting straight up, he saw Zeb – _Zeb, finally, it’s been a week_ – standing in the door to the brig, a small bag in his hands.

Immediately, Kallus felt his cheeks color as Rau burst out laughing. His skin burned like it had when he’d first woken up after Bahryn and he was sure he was even redder.

Zeb’s fur visibly stood on end and he glared at Rau, shutting the Mandalorian up. He walked up to Kallus’s cell and that’s when Kallus noticed Zeb was limping.

He was on his feet before he knew it, mirroring Zeb on the other side of the ray shield. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Zeb looked down at his right thigh and Kallus saw the bandage sticking out slightly from his jumpsuit. “Just a blaster bolt, Kal,” he said. “Nothin’ special.”

“But–” _But you’re **hurt**_. Kallus blinked, surprised at his own vehemence. He didn’t care that much about the lasat. 

Did he?

He backed up so Zeb could enter the cell. The two men sat across from each other and before Zeb looked at Kallus again, there was silence. Following the lasat’s gaze, Kallus realized Zeb was staring at the holonovel on the floor.

Of _course_ , the cover was face up. Of _course_ it had to be a human/xeno novel. Of _course_ it had to be one with a shistavanen, who were even less human-like than lasat.

_Wait. Why does that matter?_

Kallus grabbed the novel off the floor and, as calmly as he could, set it on the stack with the others. “Blame Bridger,” he said. “He keeps bringing me this… this poor excuse for literature and I admit to being bored enough to read it.”

“Nah,” Zeb said, surprising Kallus. “These things have been passed all over base already. You’re just gettin’ to the good part. Skip ahead a chapter and see.”

“Yes, _Kal_ ,” called out Rau. “Read that bit next.”

“Kriff off, Rau,” Kallus said reflexively, flashing him a rude hand gesture. He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified that Zeb had read the holonovel or that he’d suggested skipping scenes. Stories were meant to be told in _order_. 

Either way, Rau was laughing at them and Kallus definitely didn’t want to discuss the holonovel any more. Instead, Kallus focused on Zeb’s odd choice of words. “Base?” he asked. “You have an actual base now?”

Zeb, finally, looked embarrassed. “Shouldn’ta said that.” His shoulders slumped. “But you might as well know, since I did. We’ve got a planetary base now. The _Liberator_ ’s been on the surface for nearly a month.”

“Staying in one place? Are you sure that’s wise?” Kallus asked. He was slightly frustrated that the background noise of the ship hadn’t tipped him off that they were planetside. Then again, the ship was still running, just not flying.

“Aw, Kal, you care.”

Kallus bristled. “I _care_ because my life would be on the line if you were caught by the Empire,” he said. “That’s all.”

Zeb grinned. “Right,” he said. With a shake of his head, he handed Kallus the small bag. “Figured you were ready for another shave.”

 _Am I ever!_ Kallus eagerly dug into the bag, pulling out the can of shaving cream and disposable razor that Zeb usually brought. Swiftly, he stepped past Zeb on the chair and into the small refresher area.

“You know you don’t look half bad with the beard,” said Zeb lightly. “‘Course, I don’t get the bare skin thing humans like. How’d you stay warm without fur?”

“Not particularly well, as you noticed on Bahryn,” Kallus said, applying the cream. “Why do you trim _your_ beard the way you do?”

Zeb laughed. “ _That’s_ definitely a lasat thing you wouldn’t get.”

“Posturing for sex?”

“Okay, maybe you would get it.”

Kallus couldn’t help but grin a little. “So exactly the same reason humans do it, then.”

“Yeah? Who you trying to land with that look?”

“You’ve got it wrong,” Kallus said. “I’ve been informed by multiple parties that my particular style is more of a turn-off, which, in my job, was a benefit. The ISB doesn’t exactly encourage fraternization.”

Zeb _hmph_ ed. “Humans just don’t appreciate what they’re missing with fur.”

Kallus focused on getting the hair on his cheeks even – difficult with the flimsy razor, but doable. “You know,” he mused. “I’m surprised they let you bring me even this much of a blade. I could be quite deadly with it.”

Laughing outright, Zeb said, “That little thing? You’d hardly get past my fur, much less break skin. See, another good reason to have fur!”

“Who said I was trying to kill _you_ with it?” Kallus set down the razor and rinsed off his face. _Not half bad this time._

“You’d let me stay alive? I’m touched, Kal.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Kallus said, frowning at Zeb even though he was enjoying the conversation. It was so much more entertaining than trading insults with Rau. He bagged the shaving kit up and returned to his seat on the bed. “You’ve been pushing it enough with blasters, it looks like. Thought you kept Jedi around to prevent that sort of thing.”

Zeb absentmindedly rubbed at his thigh. “They’re helpful sometimes, but don’t tell Ezra I said that. Kid’s got a big enough head.”

“Just watch yourself,” Kallus said. Immediately, he realized that sounded like he _did_ care, so he tried to play it off as a joke. “Frostbitten ISB agents everywhere need you to stay sharp.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The look Zeb gave him said that the lasat saw right through Kallus.

He gulped.

Thankfully, Zeb didn’t push the issue. He pulled out the tabletop, produced a deck of cards, and started dealing.

Conversation turned back to safer areas, including Zeb detailing his acts of derring-do on their last mission, for the remainder of Zeb’s visit. When he left, Kallus watched him go with some reluctance.

A good portion of that reluctance was the knowledge that Rau would have something smart alecky to say.

Kallus wasn’t wrong. “Would you and your boyfriend just _kiss_ already?” Rau grumped once they were alone again. “Do you know how insufferable you are?”

 _Why does he insist on teasing me about Zeb, **every** time?_ Clenching his fists, Kallus shot back, “As long as we’re irritating you, Rau, I’m perfectly happy.”

“You’ve certainly succeeded in that. When’s the wedding?”

“Please shut up.”

Laughter. “Good night, Kallus. I’d tell you sweet dreams, but I don’t want to wake up to you doing anything.”

Kallus’s nails bit into his palms, nearly drawing blood, but he managed to keep his cool. Rau was crossing all sorts of lines and he knew it, but Kallus refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how upset Rau made him.

The lights went out in the brig and Kallus leaned back against the wall, trying to relax enough to sleep. _Zeb’s back_ , he told himself. _The days will pass easier, even with Rau being an annoying idiot._

Zeb’s injury nagged at Kallus, though. It was easy to imagine a time, just two months ago, that he would have happily shot the lasat himself, happily have done much more harm than a burn on Zeb’s thigh. 

_But I had my chance to shoot him, didn’t I? Twice. And I didn’t take it, either time._

Ahsoka’s questions echoed in his mind. Why _had_ he spared Zeb? He couldn’t have known that the lasat would become a– not a friend, exactly, but _something_. Something that wasn’t an enemy.

What _was_ Zeb to Kallus? 

Did it matter, in the end? After all, Kallus wasn’t getting out of his cell unless the Rebels won the war and _that_ wasn’t going to happen.

Kallus sighed. Those were questions better attacked after sleep.

Zeb leaned back in his chair, enjoying the Atollon sunlight and listening to one of his tapes.

The others knew not to bother him when he was out like this, not unless it was really important. Everyone de-stressed in their own way; his just included fresh air, solitude, and music.

The next day, there would be another mission, off to steal what fuel they could find. The fleet was running low again and last night, energy rationing had begun. Zeb planned to stay outside and enjoy having actual light until the sun went down, knowing that even the usually-welcoming _Ghost_ would be cold and dark on their mission.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like his plan was going to work. His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps. Familiar footsteps, at least.

“What is it, Hera?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, approaching from the side. “They’re looking for you on the _Liberator_. Something’s wrong with Agent Kallus.”

Zeb couldn’t help the way he jerked to attention. “Me?” he asked, though he was ready to jump up and go. “Why aren’t they getting a medic if something’s wrong?”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of something.” Hera bit her lip. “You know they turned off most of the life support systems on board? Apparently Kallus isn’t reacting well to the chill.”

 _Chill?_ “Ah, _karabast_ ,” Zeb swore, standing. “Of _kriffing course_ he isn’t. The man almost died of hypothermia!”

Hera held up her hands. “I’m not the one who did it, Zeb. Everyone’s on rationing, those in the brig included. Sato’s orders. We can’t waste fuel because of just one person.”

“I know that,” Zeb said, trying to calm down so his fur would settle. He wanted to yell at somebody, but Hera wasn’t it. “But you’d think _someone_ would have thought to warn Kal that it was about to get cold.”

“I guess not.” Hera placed a hand on Zeb’s arm, pulling it back when Zeb flinched. “You’d better get there.”

Zeb switched off his music and looked around. He’d pick up his stuff later, _after_ he knew Kallus was okay. 

“Hey!” Hera called as he stormed off. “Try not to kill anyone, okay?”

“No promises,” he growled.

The _Liberator_ was much colder than the air outside, perhaps a result of all the insulation meant to keep _out_ the chill of deep space also keeping out the Atollon heat. Zeb knew immediately that Kallus would be thinking of Bahryn in such an environment – and the idea did not make Zeb happy.

Two young privates stood guard outside the brig as Zeb approached. He knew these two – they were usually good kids – but today they were on his shit list.

“Captain Orrelios!” one of them said, sounding partially relieved. “We sent someone looking–”

“One of you better tell me what’s going on,” Zeb snapped, stopping where he could tower over both guards.

“It’s Agent Kallus,” said the other one. She seemed to not be as intimidated as her partner. “He’s usually quiet, so we didn’t really notice anything until Rau–”

“Let me get this straight: you know he had hypothermia. Almost died. _Very recently_. Why didn’t one of you laser brained idiots think to _tell him_ it was gonna get cold?” Zeb knew his voice was raised, knew their whole section of the ship could probably hear him, knew the way he was waving his arms around was terrifying the kids, but he didn’t care. They were the _Rebellion_. They were supposed to treat their prisoners better than the Empire would.

The guards looked at each other, frightened. The boy said timidly, “We didn’t think…”

Zeb had heard enough. “Let me through.”

They scrambled to open the door.

When Zeb stepped in, Fenn Rau was standing at his ray shield. “I’ve been trying to tell them something was wrong since this morning,” he said. “He won’t talk to me, not even to call me an asshole.”

Zeb blew Rau off, though his words were worrisome, and went straight into Kallus’s cell.

Kallus was sitting on the bed, knees pulled to his chest, face down, shaking.

Zeb took a deep breath, pushing down his fury that the guards left Kallus like this for even an hour, much less _most of the day_ , and forced himself to sound calm. He knelt by Kallus’s bed. “Kal?” he asked quietly. “Kal, it’s Zeb. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. It’s just power rationing.”

Kallus didn’t respond.

Carefully, Zeb put a hand on Kallus’s back, covering much of it, hoping the warmth would get through to Kallus where words couldn’t.

A small whimper came from the man. Zeb rubbed his back gently, generating more warmth.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said again.

Zeb heard Kallus say something, but he couldn’t make it out. 

“Say that again for me, Kal.”

Kallus’s voice was quiet and nearly shrill, so unlike his usual composed self. “I hurt.”

 _Oh, Force._ Zeb moved up onto the bed by Kallus and carefully pried his hands from his legs. Kallus’s skin was cool, but nothing like it had been after Bahryn. He didn’t know if the pain was physical or born from Kallus’s mind, but Zeb was going to treat it as if it were physical.

He only knew one way to treat it. Zeb let go of Kallus’s hands – the man went straight back to gripping his calves – and undid his jumpsuit, pushing it down to his waist. He wasn’t going to go all the way, not with Rau and two guards so close, but his torso would provide some heat for Kallus to glean.

“Kal, buddy, we’re gonna share heat again,” Zeb explained. “I’m gonna move you.”

Kallus didn’t fight back as Zeb helped him lie down and covered him with his blankets – three, including one Zeb had brought from his own bunkroom. Zeb positioned himself next to Kallus, letting the man bury his face in Zeb’s chest. Kallus unclenched his fists and latched onto Zeb’s chest fur, pulling hard enough it hurt.

Grimacing, Zeb pulled Kallus closer, rubbing his back again. “You’re okay, Kal. I told you I got you and I meant it. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

Kallus nodded, but didn’t loosen his grip.

 _I didn’t want to let him die. I didn’t mean to **adopt** him_, Zeb thought. _But I guess I got my very own ISB agent now._

Zeb looked up and saw the two guards standing just inside the brig door, watching wide-eyed. 

“If you two don’t have a space heater in here in ten minutes,” he growled, “I will end you both.”

The boy ran off, nearly falling down in his eagerness to get moving.

Zeb approved.

“Thank you,” Kallus whispered. “Zeb.”

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Zeb said. “Not gonna let anything happen to you on my watch. I promise.”

It was a strange thing to feel for a man who once tried to kill him, Zeb knew, but he meant it, every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody please thank guest author JessKo for Kallus's naughty romance novel excerpt!
> 
> Some Zeb/Kallus tenderness art from werecadet: [on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/buffaluffalo/status/1271658192544714753)


	4. Chapter 4

Once the _Liberator_ ’s regular life support systems were brought back online, Kallus waited in terror for someone to tease him about his _stupidity_ and _weakness_ in the face of a mere change in temperatures. But by some unspoken agreement, neither Zeb nor Fenn Rau brought up Kallus’s panic attack in the days that followed. 

It was almost disappointing that Zeb said nothing, however. Kallus understood that Zeb had just been trying to calm him down, was just being a– well, a good caretaker? Kallus still didn’t want to call him a friend. Not while they were on opposite sides of a ray shield.

Kallus wanted to thank Zeb again, though, but didn’t know what to say. The whole ordeal had to have meant less to Zeb than it did to Kallus and there was no way he wanted to admit _more_ vulnerability in front of Rau. Telling Zeb that he felt safer with the lasat around, that Zeb’s promise to take care of him _actually_ meant a lot… it was unthinkable. He’d just be laughed at for believing things Zeb said simply to calm Kallus down.

Besides, Kallus was certain he only felt this way because he’d been in a cell too long. If he were at the top of his game, nothing the lasat said would mean anything. There wouldn’t be anything that Zeb could do for him, because _Kallus wouldn’t need Zeb_.

It was all forced helplessness, Kallus convinced himself as time passed. His continually growing attachment to Zeb was nothing more than a reaction to a sympathetic captor.

Kallus was mulling on that one morning when Ahsoka showed up once more.

He hadn’t honestly expected to see her again; it’d been two weeks since her first visit.

“Alexsandr,” she said, greeting him with a nod as she sat down. “Have you had a chance to think about what we talked about or have you stuck to reading instead?”

“The reason I saved Zeb?” he asked, firmly ignoring her reference to his trashy holonovel stash. “I stand by what I said before. I was thinking of my own survival.”

“What’s your excuse now?” interrupted Rau. “Thinking of your own libido, more like it.”

Kallus leaned his elbows against the table and covered his face. “Excuse him,” he told Ahsoka. “He left all his good manners on Concord Dawn, if he ever had any.”

Rau’s teasing – while avoiding the panic attack – had only gotten sharper about his relationship with Zeb. His crude suggestions were getting more graphic and, unfortunately, sneaking their way into Kallus’s nighttime dreams. It was all terribly mortifying, but Kallus would die before letting Rau know that.

When he peeked back up at Ahsoka, the woman was smiling, as if Rau had actually amused her. “I do hear the two of you are close these days. I’m glad. Zeb is a good being.”

“Yes, he is,” Kallus agreed. _Too good for the Rebellion; he ought to be doing something nobler with his life._

There wasn’t much _oomph_ behind the thought, however. Not like there used to be.

“Are you?”

The question took him by surprise. “I’m… good at what I am,” he said slowly, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to give her an unqualified ‘yes’ but he had too many bloody memories for that.

Ahsoka gave him a look, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m effective,” he corrected. “I can be relied on.”

“As an agent, yes,” she said. “But what about _you_?”

“Me? An agent is all I am anymore,” he said. “It’s all I’ve been since I graduated from the Academy. Anything else is irrelevant and unnecessary.”

“To the Empire, maybe. Here in the Rebellion, who you are matters more than what your rank is.”

He leaned in again. “I’m not part of your Rebellion,” he reminded her. “I’m an Imperial Security Bureau agent and a prisoner.”

Ahsoka leaned in, too. “You don’t have to be either. Not to the Empire and not to the Rebellion.”

Kallus scoffed. “What could you possibly mean?”

“She means you’re no longer ISB. You’re a dead _shabuir_ is what you are. Thought you’d’ve figured that out when the Empire left you on that moon.”

“Thank you for that, Rau,” Kallus said, trying to be patient in front of his visitor. If Ahsoka hadn’t been there, he’d have had some choice words for Rau. As it was, he’d picked up just enough Mando’a to hope Ahsoka didn’t speak any.

That didn’t seem to be the case. She said something that sounded like Mando’a to Rau, too quickly for Kallus to catch or translate.

It shut Rau up, however.

“He _is_ right, Alexsandr,” she said, turning back to Kallus as if they hadn’t been interrupted at all. “The Empire doesn’t want you as an ISB agent anymore. What you were in the Empire doesn’t matter unless you let it.”

Kallus gave her a doubtful look. “The Empire thinks I’m dead or it would matter quite a bit. I was ISB-021. I worked hard to earn that title and the Empire appreciated that.”

“Did they?” she asked lightly.

“What kind of question is that? The ISB recognized my hard work with promotions. The Rebellion might be lax on rank, but that matters in the Empire.”

“I’m sure. But were you proud of where you were?”

Kallus’s questioning look turned baffled. “Of course I was. Why wouldn’t I be proud of my efforts?”

“Are you proud now?” Ashoka watched him closely, barely blinking.

“Absolu–” 

Kallus broke off when he realized that his answer was merely a trained reaction. Instead of thinking about his many promotions and achievements, his mind was throwing up memories of Lasan and his continued discomfort about that mission. Memories of the many deserters he’d tracked down and imprisoned or killed – and the question of why they chose to die rather than return to the Empire. What had they seen?

Had they had their own Garazeb Orrelioses? Their own insight into the Rebellion’s character? _What changed their minds_?

Ahsoka let him think for a minute before pressing on. “Are you still ISB-021, Alexsandr, in your heart, or has that changed too? You’re no longer proud of who you became in the Empire. Are you someone else now?”

“I never said I wasn’t proud,” Kallus protested. 

Across the hall, Rau snorted and Kallus knew how weak his argument had sounded.

“No, you didn’t,” Ahsoka agreed. She watched him closely and he thought he saw something haunting her own expression. “But you didn’t say you _were_ proud, either.”

Kallus didn’t want to admit Ahsoka was right.

But she was right.

“If I’m not ISB-021 anymore,” he said quietly, “I’m not anyone. I’m just a prisoner.”

“You don’t have to stay one.” Ahsoka spoke gently, catching his eye. “The Rebellion recognizes changed minds and hearts.”

“I’m not a Rebel,” he said, a little more sure in his footing.

“Not yet, perhaps.”

 _Yet._ Ahsoka sounded so sure that he would defect.

Was it defecting when the Empire abandoned him first?

Kallus didn’t mention Ahsoka’s visit to Zeb, but he certainly didn’t let it slip from his thoughts.

He’d known that Rau was only in a cell as long as he stayed loyal to the Empire. If Rau ever decided to change loyalties and bring his Protectors with him, the Rebellion would welcome him.

Surely the same couldn’t be true of Kallus, though. Agent Kallus had been an Imperial for most of his life. He’d worked relentlessly and well and brought down many Rebels, often before they had a chance to do any real damage.

No Rebellion would want him.

 _They might not want Agent Kallus who was their enemy,_ Ahsoka’s voice said in his head. _But they might want Alexsandr who knows the Empire’s secrets. Who survived when he was left to die. Who owes his life to Rebels._

Kallus had just about decided to broach the topic with Zeb – _Is there any chance of me getting out of this cell if I swear to join your fight?_ – when the lasat stopped visiting without warning.

At first, Rau made fun of Kallus for missing his ‘furry boyfriend’, but Sabine and Kanan quit visiting at the same time, leaving them both alone for nearly a week.

Kallus asked after the Spectres, one night when their dinner was brought.

The private who fed them looked sheepish. “Um. The Spectres are keeping to themselves right now. A mission went bad and they lost someone. I think another one of them got hurt.”

Fear ignited in Kallus’s heart immediately. “Who did they lose?” he asked, nearly leaning into the ray shield.

The private shrugged. “I’m sorry; I don’t know.”

Staggering back to his bed, Kallus stared at his food with absolutely no desire to eat.

 _What if it’s Zeb? What if Zeb died and I never get to see him again? Never get to tell him_ –

 _Tell him what? That I want to be a Rebel? That I want_ –

_That I want to be his friend._

_Maybe more._

**_No_ ** _. I don’t feel that way, even if Rau won’t shut up about it._

_But what if I did? What If I do? What if I never get to find out?_

“You okay in there? Sounds like you’re hyperventilating.”

It took Kallus a moment to be able to answer. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was slightly pitched, giving the lie to his words.

Rau sighed loudly. “I’m sure it wasn’t your boyfriend or someone would have come told you.”

Kallus got better control of his emotions and leaned forward to glare at Rau. “I’m certain Zeb is fine, Rau. I’m _not_ worried about him.”

“Of course you are. I would be, if I were in love with one of the Spectres.” Rau twirled his spoon idly as he spoke, but his face wasn’t full of its usual mischievous merriment.

“Shouldn’t you be concerned that it wasn’t Sabine or Kanan? They’re _your_ advocates here.”

“They’d have told us,” Rau said, though his voice was a little less sure.

 _Would they, though?_ Kallus wondered. _We’re merely prisoners. We don’t matter._

He was left with plenty of time to stew over the bad news, as the brig continued to receive no visitors for another couple of days. Kallus spent his time arguing with himself – and with Rau – that his initial worry for Zeb had been just that: worry.

Not panic. Not real fear.

His misguided thoughts of what might have been with Zeb were nothing more than fancies fueled by those Sith-forsaken holonovels. Zeb just featured in his dreams because Zeb was _present_. If Hera had been his frequent visitor, he’d dream of her, Kallus was sure.

The second the brig door opened when it wasn’t a mealtime, Kallus was on high alert.

Sabine Wren stepped in, looking a little paler and more tired than usual.

_Oh, **karabast**. Something bad really did happen._

Kallus had waking nightmares of Zeb on a forest planet somewhere, blown to bits by an Imperial bomb. Caught in the blast of a newly-reintroduced T-7, obliterated like his people on Lasan. Floating in space after the _Ghost_ was destroyed in battle.

Eyes clenched shut, he tried and failed to contain his thoughts. Breath escaped him; his lungs weren’t working. He clutched at his bed with tight fists and knuckles so white even the freckles were gone.

“Kal?”

Blinking through unwelcome tears, Kallus looked up and saw Zeb standing outside his cell.

He must have entered after Sabine; the blood had been pounding so loudly in Kallus’s ears that he hadn’t heard the lasat’s heavy footsteps.

“Zeb!” he gasped, not even caring how his voice betrayed him; he was too relieved to see Zeb alive and well.

Zeb stepped into the cell and sat across from Kallus. “You sick?” he asked. “You don’t look too good.”

Kallus barked a laugh. “I’m well enough, thank you. We heard–” he paused. “We heard something bad happened on your last mission.”

Sighing, Zeb dropped his head, shoulders slumping. “Wasn’t my mission. Kanan and Ezra and Ahsoka – I don’t think you know her. But Ahsoka didn’t come back. Ezra and Kanan barely made it back.”

 _Ah_ – _Ahsoka’s dead? Who will get me out of this cell now? I’m never going to find out the answers to her questions, am I?_ “Zeb, I’m– I’m so sorry.”

“Eh.” Zeb straightened up and Kallus could tell he was forcing cheerfulness. “It’s war. It could have been worse. Might’ve lost Kanan and Ezra, too.”

“I’m glad they’re all right,” Kallus said, surprised to find he meant it. He leaned forward against the table, hands clasped to keep him from reaching out to Zeb. “I’m glad _you’re_ all right.”

“Kanan’s not all right,” Zeb said quietly. “That’s why I ain’t been here. He got blinded by a lightsaber. Some dark sider, he said. He won’t talk much; not to me, not to Hera. Been trying to help him, but he doesn’t want our help. Doesn’t want much of anything.”

“Dark sider?” Kallus briefly wondered if it had been some Force wielder he’d worked with in his past. An Inquisitor, perhaps. Possibly even Darth Vader. Could Kanan and Ezra have escaped if they had faced the Sith Lord, however?

_Ahsoka died with a dark sider there, in the presence of two Jedi. Was she a Jedi, too? That might explain her intensity and some of the philosophy with which she spoke. And explain how she got answers I never said or thought. Answers I still don’t know._

_Or do I know them after all?_

He hadn’t realized that he’d drifted off until Zeb nudged his hands. 

“Hey, don’t disappear on me,” the lasat said, not unkindly. “Kanan’s been doing that to me enough. I was hopin’ to actually get to talk to you.”

“I’m– I apologize. I didn’t mean to.” Kallus forced himself to look straight into Zeb’s eyes, noticing that they weren’t as bright as usual. _Exhaustion_? “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing,” Kallus said, a little too quickly. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Well, now, _that_ just worries me.” Zeb gave him a sober look. “Kal, what is it?”

Kallus was quiet a moment, trying to order his most disorderly thoughts. “Ahsoka,” he said finally. “I didn’t tell you, but she visited me twice. Kept trying to get me to consider…”

Zeb waited patiently.

Kallus sighed, plowing ahead regardless of good sense. “She was trying to get me to think about why I didn’t kill you on Bahryn and wanted me to consider allying myself with you instead of staying in this cell.” He looked down, studying his hands. “I realize that’s absurd, because there’s no way I’m getting out of here, but–”

“You wanna jump ship?”

Kallus had to be misinterpreting things. There was no way Zeb should sound that eager. They were supposed to be _enemies_ , not _friends_ , definitely not _objects of affection_ to each other. Kallus had confessed to being part of the cleansing of Lasan, after all. Zeb should hate him, utterly and completely.

Zeb shouldn’t be sitting there with a smile on his face, the light returned to his eyes.

“Zeb, I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I’m still wrestling with the implications of the first question.”

Kallus regretted opening up as soon as the words were out. Zeb appeared even more interested in what he had to say – but Kallus wanted nothing more than to shut up.

It was too late, however. He’d spoken and he had nowhere to retreat to.

Staring resolutely at the wall past Zeb, Kallus spoke slowly, finding his feet as he went. “As an Imperial, I should have killed you without question. Everything I’ve ever been taught, trained, or told says I should have. But you didn’t kill me. For some unknowable, incomprehensible reason, you _helped_ me. I’d never experienced anything like that. I had no foundation upon which to interpret that. All of a sudden you went from prey to someone who’d proven himself capable of mercy _towards me_.”

Kallus fidgeted, wringing his hands around his fingers. “Yes, a lot of it was self-preservation. I knew I needed your help if I wanted to survive the night. I still had faith in the Empire, but I needed to have faith in you, too. And so, while we were there, I let myself forget that we were enemies.”

“You know we don’t need to be,” Zeb said softly. “Not anymore.”

“Don’t we?” Kallus asked desperately. “You shouldn’t trust me, Zeb. Even if I say I want to leave the Empire behind for good, you shouldn’t take me at my word. None of your friends will. _Why would you?_ ”

“Because you didn’t shoot me.”

“I just told you that was self-preservation!” Kallus leaned back and rubbed at his cheeks. “Zeb, please.”

“Please what?”

“Don’t push me on this. Please.”

Zeb nodded, but ignored Kallus’s request. “You wouldn’t shoot me now, would you?”

Kallus laughed bitterly. If this wasn’t such a dire conversation, he’d compare Zeb to a curious toddler that refused to listen. That was too light-hearted, though. It didn’t fit when Zeb was coercing Kallus into conclusions he most certainly didn’t want to find.

_Coercion? Really, Alexsandr? It’s hardly coercion to make you realize what’s been right in front of you._

Tears of frustration started to well again. Kallus wasn’t sure if he was angrier at himself for what he felt or Zeb for asking questions – or even Ahsoka for making him think about these things in the first place.

“Kal?”

Kallus rubbed at his eyes. “No,” he said. “No, I wouldn’t shoot you now. I wouldn’t be able to, not after all you’ve done for me. You know that.”

“I didn’t, or at least I didn’t know for for sure. Not until just now.” Zeb attempted a smile. “Kal, if you wanna talk about defecting…”

“I don’t,” Kallus snapped. “Ahsoka made it clear to me that I’m no longer an Imperial, not after they left me, not after your Force-damned _influence_ , but a Rebel? I don’t know that I’m ready. Can’t I just be _Alexsandr Kallus_ for a bit?”

Zeb wilted a little. “You want us to drop you off on a planet somewhere?”

“I didn’t say that,” Kallus said, suddenly realizing his outburst could be interpreted in that manner. He didn’t want to lose Zeb’s company. He didn’t want to have to wonder every day if Zeb was still all right, still alive, still fighting.

Kallus wanted to be fighting _with_ Zeb, making sure the lasat was safe.

That terrified him to the core.

_What have I become? I’m unrecognizable. Who am I anymore?_

_I’m a man with no loyalties except to a lasat who ought to despise me. With no desires except for the freedom to be his brother-in-arms. For the chance to show him what I’m made of. What I **can** be made of._

_How can I show him what I mean?_

Kallus’s mind started turning again, no longer caught on the precipice of admitting what sort of thoughts Zeb inspired. Plans formed in his mind instead.

His eyes widened as he realized there might actually be a way to earn his freedom while not totally giving himself over to the Rebellion.

It would mean leaving Zeb, but it would also be keeping him safe.

“You okay?” Zeb asked, looking concerned.

“I want to go back to the Empire,” Kallus said, letting the words tumble out before he changed his mind. “Ahsoka was Fulcrum, but she’s gone. You need a new spy. I can do that.”

Zeb eyed him warily. “Thought the Empire was gonna torture and kill you and you said you _couldn’t_ go back.”

“ _Agent Kallus_ can’t go back,” he said breathlessly, mentally unfolding the plan as he went. “They’d kill him. But they think he’s dead. If I change my appearance, I can go back as– as, I don’t know, perhaps a trooper or a communications officer or some other position with access to information the Rebellion could use. They won’t be expecting me and I could undermine the Empire’s efforts from within.”

“What happened to not wanting to be a Rebel?”

“I wouldn’t be,” Kallus pointed out. “I’d be my own agent. You could disown me if I’m caught. But it would–” _It would protect you._ “–It would let me exact retribution for the Empire’s abandonment.”

It seemed like Zeb was trying to hold back disappointment, though Kallus wasn’t sure if it was with himself or his plan. “But you want to go spy for the Rebellion? You want to go _back_ to the Empire? You want to risk being caught and tortured?”

“Zeb, if I said I wanted to defect and join your cell of the Rebellion, who would really believe me? They don’t want me around. This is expedient,” Kallus tried to explain. “It gets me out of this cell and out of your base and puts me in a position where either I play my role as spy and help you or I die. There are consequences for me if I betray you; if I feed your cell false information, all you have to do is leak my identity to the Empire. I have obvious incentive to play straight with you.”

“I don’t know,” Zeb said. “I don’t know that I like it. I was hopin’ you’d want to stay here. Maybe join us on the _Ghost._ ”

“Me, a Spectre?” Kallus shook his head. “You’ve got enough problems without trying to convince the others to accept me.”

“Kal, what part of all this made you think you wouldn’t be accepted?” Zeb sounded baffled.

Kallus arched his eyebrows. “I’m in _prison_ ,” he said drily.

“An’ the whole crew went back for you on Bahryn. We used our best medical supplies on you. We’ve all argued to keep you here – _in the hopes you defect_ – instead of dumping you or returning you to the Empire.”

That was all true and hard to argue against, Kallus realized. He’d written it all off as Rebel stupidity, but perhaps it was something more than that.

Perhaps the Rebels – perhaps _Zeb_ – felt something more than mere tolerance for him, after all.

The thought just gave Kallus more incentive to pursue his plan. It was incredibly foolhardy of him to try to return to the Empire, but…

But if people wanted to believe in him again, he’d live up to that. He always had.

“Hera, I need your help.”

Zeb had her pinned down in the _Ghost_ ’s galley. She set down the caf she was drinking. “Can it wait? Kanan just fell asleep and I need a moment.”

Instinctively, Zeb almost said ‘sure’ and left her alone, but he stopped himself. If he tried to wait until Hera was neither dealing with Kanan nor tired, then he’d never get her help. “Kallus wants to defect,” he said bluntly.

Hera’s eyes widened. “Really? Kallus, actually defect? He’s not just manipulating you?”

Annoyed, Zeb frowned. “Hera. I’m not that easy to fool.”

She laughed softly. “When it comes to him, you might be.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Zeb insisted. “He wants to take over Ahsoka’s place, be the next Fulcrum spy. I need your help convincing Sato to let him.”

“How does he know Ahsoka was Fulcrum?” Hera frowned. “Zeb, what have you been telling him?”

Zeb held up his hands in innocence. “Nothin’. Ahsoka told him that herself.”

Hera didn’t look convinced, but she leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms, lekku twitching. “Okay, Zeb. Tell me everything I need to go before we go to Sato.”

Grateful, Zeb tried to explain everything Kallus had told him. The plan to sneak back into the Empire, the reasons why he was willing to do it, the hopes Zeb had that it would only be temporary.

Hera nodded as Zeb spoke. He wasn’t sure she was totally convinced, but she agreed to go to Sato. “I’m finishing this caf first, though,” she insisted. “Get out of here and leave me alone.”

Zeb grinned, exhilarated. If Hera was on his side – on _Kallus’s_ side – then Sato would _have_ to agree.

Sato was not as easily persuaded, however. “Are we sure we can trust his change of heart? This seems sudden and all too convenient without Ahsoka here to confirm his story.”

Zeb fidgeted impatiently.

“All due respect, Commander,” Hera said, “Zeb’s been talking to Kallus nearly every day. You and I haven’t been. I’m inclined to trust Zeb. Although, perhaps we should go talk to Kallus himself if we want to be sure.”

Sato nodded. “Perhaps. Can we even insert him into the Empire like he’s requesting? Can we disguise him well enough with what we have?”

“We can get stuff,” Zeb grumbled. “There’s a supply run to Hutt space in what? A coupla days?”

Hera gestured to Zeb. “He’s right, Commander. The hardest part will be inserting him onto Lothal, but we’ve got the codes. We just need a TIE or Imperial shuttle to make it to the surface and I’m sure we can steal one without too much trouble. My pilots are good enough to disable one without destroying it.”

“They are,” Sato agreed. “Let me think on this. If Agent Kallus is being honest about his intentions, this could be a blessing from the Force. We need intel desperately. But he would also be in a position to betray us easily.”

“So don’t tell him where we are,” Zeb reasoned. “Let him out of that cell, get him prepared, but don’t show him anything sensitive.”

Hera motioned for him to be quiet and Zeb _hmph_ ed. He wanted to argue for Kallus’s release, not wait for a committee of not-so-sympathetic beings to come to a decision.

But a committee was what it took. Just like the choice to keep Kallus as a prisoner in the first place, it took a group discussion – and one detailed interrogation by Sato, Hera, and that stupid biased ground trooper – to determine to free him.

“Hey, buddy,” Zeb greeted him the next morning – early, but not early enough that he’d caught Kallus sleeping. “Guess what today is?”

“If it’s your birthday, Zeb, forgive me but I don’t have a gift for you,” Kallus grumbled, lounging on his bed.

Zeb laughed, unable to contain his excitement. “No. Pack up your holonovels; you’re gonna come stay on the _Ghost_ while we get you ready to be Fulcrum.”

Sitting up quickly enough he banged his knees against the table, Kallus looked at Zeb in shock. “Don’t you dare be leading me on,” he warned. “Zeb, don’t do that to me.”

“I’m not,” Zeb said, punching in the code to hold open the ray shield. 

Kallus immediately stood, stopping at the edge of his cell. He looked to Zeb for confirmation and Zeb nodded.

“Rau,” Kallus said loudly, “I’m leaving you all the novels. Try not to rot your mind any further.”

Behind Zeb, Rau grunted. “I can’t believe the Rebellion is taking away my favorite entertainment.”

Zeb frowned, but Kallus shook his head quickly. _Don’t mind him,_ he mouthed.

He was pretty sure what Rau meant, but Zeb didn’t press the issue. Kallus took a step forward – his first free step in over two months – and Zeb grabbed his arms.

He hadn’t planned on hugging Kallus; it just sort of happened spontaneously, without much input from Zeb’s brain.

Kallus didn’t fight him, though, and actually returned the hug.

Zeb didn’t question why.

“You ready to see the sky again?” he asked, once Kallus pulled back.

The man nodded, still looking stunned.

Zeb supposed that made sense. He _had_ spent a long time in a small room; the idea of freedom had to cause some disbelief.

But Zeb was going to show him he could believe in his release. In the Rebellion. In Zeb.

Kallus had to stop for a minute after they left the _Liberator_. Zeb thought maybe his eyes needed to adjust for the sunlight, but from the way Kallus was looking around, he was trying to see everything he could about Atollon.

“You okay, Kal?”

“I am,” Kallus said, voice wavering slightly. “Don’t mind me. Where are you keeping me now? Back in your bunk?”

Zeb grinned, nudging Kallus with his elbow. “I think you’ll like this bit. You can go anywhere except the leadership rooms in the base itself. Intelligence will be working with you the next few days to get you ready to be Fulcrum.”

“ _Kriff_ ,” Kallus breathed.

“Ezra’s bunkin’ with Kanan again, so you’ve got top bunk in mine, unless you want to sleep elsewhere,” Zeb explained.

Kallus shook his head, now-shaggy hair falling in his eyes. “I think that’ll be fine.”

“Look who it is!”

They both turned towards the perky voice and saw Saari the medic walking up, beaming.

“Knew you’d be out before too long,” she said, smiling at Kallus.

“You knew more than I did, then,” he said.

“With Zeb working on you?” she laughed. “It was only a matter of time. He’s good people.”

Zeb’s fur bristled in embarrassment, but Kallus nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You’re really gonna be our Fulcrum?” she asked.

Kallus frowned. “Does the whole base know?”

Zeb joined the frown. He’d thought only the leadership knew, to help keep Kallus’s cover a secret.

“Medic,” Saari said by way of explanation. “You want to know the gossip, talk to one of us or the cleaning crew. We know _all_ the good dirt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kallus said.

Across the way, Zeb saw Hera waving at them from the _Ghost_ ’s ramp. He pointed and Saari stepped aside so they could go.

She grabbed Zeb’s arm, though. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on him,” she said quietly. “If _he_ can come around, I have to think any Imperial can.”

Zeb shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it that way. “Saari–” he started, meaning to excuse himself.

She didn’t let go of his arm, though. “I know the rumors,” she said in an even quieter whisper. “If they’re true, don’t let him leave without taking a chance.”

Zeb stared at her, unsure what she was talking about.

No, that was a lie. He knew _exactly_ what she was talking about.

Zeb knew Rau teased Kallus about liking him. Zeb had gotten the same sort of teasing from Ezra and Sabine.

The problem was, the more time Zeb spent around Kallus, the further Kallus got from being _Agent_ Kallus, the more the teasing was true.

It was impossible, of course. Kallus was Coruscanti-bred. He was Imperial-educated. He might not feel loyalty to the Empire anymore, but he couldn’t be expected to brush off _all_ their indoctrination. Best Zeb could hope for was friendship.

Saari walked off with a wink and Kallus turned to Zeb. “What did she say?”

“Not to let you get frostbitten again,” Zeb lied.

“Ah,” said Kallus, in a tone that said he knew it was a lie. “Shall we go see what your Captain Syndulla wants?”

“Don’t call her that to her face,” Zeb warned. “She’ll kick you back off the _Ghost_. It’s ‘Hera’ or nothin’.”

Kallus nodded. “Hera, then.”

There was silence for a moment and neither man made a move to actually go see what Hera wanted. Zeb was acutely aware they were standing close enough that he could just about feel the edges of Kallus’s shirtsleeves against his fur.

It was a nice place to be.

It was also far too public.

Putting a hand on Kallus’s shoulder, Zeb took a step forward, leading them both to the _Ghost_.

He had three days with Kallus before losing him to the Empire. Three days to sort out his feelings and get rid of the inappropriate ones.

Three days in which he’d be sharing a bunk with the man.

_Ashla save me._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long'un by my standards, folks, but you _do_ get all three days, so slog on through!
> 
> I also use more of Anath_Tsurugi's Lasana in this chapter. Go love on her fics!

Kallus knew he must’ve looked like a rube, being led through the middle of a Rebel base and gawking at the world outside his cell, but the feeling of breathing air that hadn’t been recycled an infinite number of times was intoxicating, as was the sight of an open sky.

This planet, wherever they were, had a _presence_ : the air was dry but heavy with aroma, almost enough to taste. Sweet plant scents wafted into the base, as did the sharper, more bitter odors of some animal. There was also a weighty middle sort of smell that Kallus couldn’t identify, but that seemed to call to him.

Strongest of all, though, the smell of Zeb standing upwind.

He’d gotten used to the pungent smell of lasat since Zeb brought him back to the Rebels and didn’t mind it much now. Most of the time it meant friendship and safety, the presence of someone he wanted to be around.

Every now and again, however, his brain threw up a memory of that mercenary from Onderon, leaning down and holding the paralyzed Kallus up so he could talk at him. Close enough Kallus could smell him, his sour breath, feel his claws sliding under his cuirass. Close enough Kallus thought he was going to die before his twenty-fifth birthday.

Kallus tried to hide his shudder, but Zeb saw it.

“You okay, Kal?”

“Just hungry,” he lied. “You got me out before they brought breakfast.” He felt bad about lying so easily to Zeb, but then again, hadn’t Zeb just lied to him about what Saari had said?

 _Yeah, Alexsandr, you’re off to a great start here_.

“Thought you might be. The kids are cooking breakfast, enough for you, too. Unless you’d rather go to the mess.”

“No,” Kallus said, surprised. “This sounds fine.”

As they neared the _Ghost_ , Kallus saw large, gray arachnids skittering beyond the edges of the base. 

“What are _those_?” he asked.

Zeb grimaced. “Kryknas. Big bastard bogans. They stay outside the perimeter markers, but don’t go past them; they’ll eat ya.”

“I think,” said Kallus, eyeing the kryknas, “I can promise not to have anything to do with them.”

“There you are,” said Hera as soon as they came within hailing distance, waving an arm above her head to get their attention. “Ezra and Sabine have about finished off everything, so you’d better hurry.” Her message delivered, she disappeared back into the _Ghost._

The younger Spectres almost ran over Kallus and Zeb as they walked up the ramp, not even bothering to say hello. From what Kallus could see, Ezra was being chased by Sabine, but both were busy shouting at the other.

Zeb stopped and watched them run, shaking his head. “No telling what that kid did, but he prob’ly deserves whatever he gets.”

Up in the common area, Hera was finishing up her own plate of food; it looked like some sort of bread and fruit compote paired with sliced meats and what Kallus dearly hoped was cheese.

“Sorry it’s nothing hot,” Hera said, scooting over so they had room to sit around the small dejarik table. “But you really don’t want Ezra using the stove. How that boy survived on his own for so many years, I have no idea. Good thing he’s a Jedi; he definitely doesn’t have a future as a chef.”

Kallus marveled at the way Hera managed to talk at him, rather than _to_ him, and never quite meet his eyes. It was very unlike the Captain Syndulla he’d dealt with – or faced off with – before his imprisonment.

Zeb had been right; whatever happened on that last mission affected all the Spectres deeply. 

Kallus waited until Zeb served himself before reaching out to fill his own plate.

The sheer freedom to pick what he wanted to eat, and how much, was exhilarating. He’d done well enough in his cell – Rebel prison food wasn’t _that_ different from food on Imperial Star Destroyers – but the ability to choose suddenly meant a lot more now. He’d _chosen_ the career that led him to those Star Destroyers

For twelve weeks, however, all Kallus’s decisions had been made for him by his Rebel captors. They might have treated him much like his Imperial superiors had, but he’d had no say in the matter.

It was a small distinction, but an important one.

Kallus had mentioned that to Zeb once, a few weeks back, and the lasat had pointed out that the same choices that led him to those Star Destroyers led him to Bahryn and ultimately to the Rebels.

It annoyed Kallus to no end that Zeb was right.

The meal was uneventful: Hera explained that Kanan wasn’t coming out of his bunk and it took both her and Zeb to get him to eat or otherwise care for himself.

Kallus saw how run down both Zeb and Hera looked and hoped he hadn’t been as bad the couple days they’d cared for him after Bahryn. It was logical to assume it was all because of Kanan and Ahsoka, but he wondered if his decision to become a spy didn’t in some way cause problems for them, too. He didn’t think so, but he’d have to ask Zeb to be sure.

“No, you weren’t,” Zeb explained when Kallus asked. “You were a bit of a bastard about doing everything yourself, but at least you _did it_.”

Zeb didn’t seem to want to talk about Kanan, so Kallus changed the subject when they walked through the base after breakfast. It was easier to focus on the lasat and conversing with him than to silently be aware of all the not-so-friendly eyes watching him.

Logically, the glares and hushed whispers weren’t without reason. Kallus couldn’t help but wonder how many of these Rebels had he personally hurt? Organized missions that killed their friends? Prevented them from getting food and other supplies, causing them to suffer?

“I don’t get the feeling I’m welcome here,” he muttered.

Zeb stumbled a bit, falling back to blatantly walk next to Kallus, eyeing the staring Rebels menacingly. Under his withering glare, they all got back to work, leaving Kallus to walk the base mostly unbothered.

“You don’t have to do that,” Kallus said quietly. “I deserve their ire.”

“Maybe,” Zeb said. “You’ve done some pretty karkin’ bad things and I’m sure I don’t know half of ‘em. But you’re helpin’ us now.”

It seemed Zeb had appointed himself Kallus’s protector, because he stood in the back of the room, arms crossed, the entire time Rebel Intelligence briefed Kallus on what had happened while he was in his cell, where he was needed most, and what was expected of him.

“Wait,” he protested. “Lothal? Even with a disguise, I worked on Lothal for two years. Shouldn’t I be going somewhere I’m less likely to be recognized?”

“Lothal is important to us,” the Intelligence officer, a young gotal, explained patiently. “It’s the sector’s Imperial base. Unless you’d like us to see if another cell would take you?”

With a worried glance back at Zeb, Kallus shook his head. “Lothal will be fine.”

The officer followed Kallus’s gaze. “Yeah, I get it,” he said sympathetically. 

Kallus knew there was speculation that gotal’s horns – which were electromagnetic sensors – could also pick up on other beings’ emotions. The gotals themselves were quiet on the subject, but Kallus didn’t want to think about what sort of things could be picked up from him at that moment.

Especially not what rushed through his heart when he saw Zeb standing there, watching over him as if he were some sort of precious cargo.

Kallus told himself it was only because his value as a spy was great. Even being inserted as a low-level communications officer – the cover currently being explained to him – would combine with his knowledge of Imperial procedures and strategies, revealing a wealth of information beyond the obvious that the Rebels could use.

Alexsandr wondered if there was something more behind those large green eyes trained on him. _Hoped_ there was.

He wanted to let his guard down, to only be Alexsandr around Zeb, as he had been so briefly after Bahryn, before needing to shield himself again.

Maybe, perhaps, if he and Zeb had some alone time before he left, he could do that. He could be merely Alexsandr.

Maybe he could even be Zeb’s friend.

The idea carried Kallus through the rest of the day: it was jam packed with intelligence briefings and measurements for Imperial uniforms and two more meals scarfed down quickly while Zeb intimidated anyone who might approach Kallus.

Zeb occupied much of the day and much of Kallus’s mind, actually.

That evening, as the sun hung low and heavy in the sky, Zeb led Kallus out back, where it was quiet, lacking the hustle and bustle of the rest of Phoenix Cell’s base. There, just on the safe side of the base’s protective barrier, sat–

Well, it looked like a tropical hideout more than anything.

There was a wicker chair, a tape player, an umbrella, blankets laid out on the ground, and a cabinet on its side to provide privacy from the base itself. 

“Here,” Zeb said, motioning to the chair. “Sit. You haven’t seen a sunset in a while.”

The lasat turned on the tape player, and a lively swing-bop song began.

Recognizing the song, Kallus smiled as he sat. “You know that band is officially blacklisted by the Empire, right?”

Zeb grinned before lounging on the blanket, feet tucked behind the wicker chair. “Of course they are; they’re actually good.” He tucked his hands behind his head, stretching out lengthwise. His charming grin shone in the dying light. “Why d’you think I like ‘em?”

“Because you’re an ornery cuss like that,” Kallus said agreeably. During his career, he’d listened to thousands of clips of ‘improper’ music, from rock to yerk to protest music, to help him identify Rebels and Rebel sympathizers and this band, while not his favorite, was still quite good.

Being ISB had had its perks. Kallus was hardly a musical connoisseur, but he’d been able to listen to whatever he liked under the guise of ‘research’.

Kallus closed his eyes, feeling the last vestiges of warmth from the sun.

Alexsandr opened them again. “Hey, Zeb?”

Zeb hummed sleepily; a quick glance down showed Alexsandr the lasat had his eyes closed, too. 

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Zeb peeked at him.

Alexsandr gestured around them. “I never thought I’d get to sit and enjoy a sunset again, enjoy music and the company of–” He stumbled over his words, but recovered. “–of anyone other than Fenn Rau again.”

Zeb snorted. “It’s okay, Kal, you can say we’re friends. I won’t tell anyone you’re actually human enough to have them.”

Cheeks burning, Alexsandr looked back at the sunset. It was true – he so desperately wanted to think of Zeb as a friend – but he didn’t want to presume the lasat could ever return the feeling.

Yet that seemed to be exactly what Zeb was insinuating.

“Friends?” he asked.

“Well, we didn’t kill each other,” Zeb reasoned. “We’ve been butt naked in bed together multiple times. I’m the one they came and got when something went wrong with you. I know we’ve both been teased about being more. I’d say ‘friends’ is probably putting it mildly.”

Rau’s voice echoed in Alexsandr’s ears, taunting him about his ‘boyfriend’, and Alexsandr flushed more deeply.

 _Do you **want** to be more_? he almost asked Zeb, but held his tongue. 

Alexsandr didn’t really want the answer to that, not yet.

A few moments later, growling snores sounded from the lasat. Alexsandr watched him sleep for a few minutes, wondering at what point he should wake Zeb up or if he ought to just stretch out on the blanket as well.

“Who are you?”

The voice was deep, rich, melodic, and completely unlike anything Alexsandr had ever heard. He looked around.

The only thing nearby was a krykna, standing unusually still on the other side of the fence.

Alexsandr shook his head, writing the question off as half-asleep delirium.

“Who are you?” the voice repeated.

This time, Alexsandr could tell it came from the krykna.

Maybe he was already dreaming.

“Who are _you_?” he asked, in lieu of giving his name to a strange creature.

“I am the Bendu. Who are you?”

Well, he had a name now, even if ‘Bendu’ didn’t tell him anything. More and more, this felt like a Force-related occurrence. Alexsandr had seen Sith and Jedi and other Force-wielders in action and while he respected them, he wasn’t a fan of the cosmic power or its consequences. If the Force wanted to mess with him, he would play along just enough to get out of the situation. “Alexsandr Kallus. I take it you’re not actually one of the krykna.”

“You are quite astute.” The voice laughed.

“Who are you, ‘Bendu’?”

“I am the one in the middle, Alexsandr Kallus. Ask your sleeping friend about me. Not now; he won’t wake.”

Alexsandr _had_ been just about to lean over and try to wake Zeb, but he straightened where he sat.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“What makes you think I want anything?”

It was Alexsandr’s turn to laugh. “ _Everybody_ wants something from me, whether it’s a liter of my blood, my knowledge, or to make me dance to their tune. What’s your game?”

“I play no games. I simply am.”

Alexsandr huffed. “Fine, keep your secrets. What are you doing here, if not to play games?”

“There are many beings on this planet now that disturb the balance of the Force. They experience injury and health, light side and dark side, fury and resentment, joy and unhappiness, and everything in-between. But you, Alexsandr Kallus…”

“What about me?” Alexsandr had no idea where this Bendu was going with their conversation.

“You’re in balance right now. Neither light nor dark. Neither good nor bad, by the standards of mortal beings. Your selflessness balanced by desire, your anger tempered by kindness. Your bitterness is offset by your love.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.” The voice sounded very certain.

“All right, Bendu, I am in balance. I’m neither Imperial nor Rebel. I am nothing and no one,” Alexsandr bit out.

“Balance is not nothing,” the Bendu said. “Balance is delicate, balance is difficult. But you are falling, Alexsandr Kallus.”

Alexsandr arched his eyebrows. “Falling?”

“You are choosing sides. You will not be in balance much longer.”

“And you came to warn me away from that?”

“Walk the line, Alexsandr Kallus, if you truly intend to be useful to the greatest number of people. Choose a side and others will pay.”

Alexsandr thought back to the image of Arihnda Pryce he’d seen in his Intelligence briefing, a woman he only knew by reputation. “Some of those deserve to pay,” he said.

“And you’re the one to decide who does?”

Alexsandr leaned forward in the chair and looked the krykna straight in its void-black eyes. “Yes. This time, I am.”

The Bendu laughed, though not as joyfully as before. “You’ve been warned, Alexsandr Kallus.”

The krykna skittered off.

Alexsandr settled back into the chair, watching Zeb sleep. The idea of joining him was tempting, but…

He knelt by Zeb’s side and squeezed the lasat’s shoulder. “Zeb, you need to wake up. If we don’t head back, they’ll think I’ve abducted you.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” mumbled Zeb. “At least I know I can escape you by turning off the heat.”

“Ha, ha,” mock-laughed Alexsandr. “Come on, lasat. Don’t make me carry you back to base when I haven’t been working out.”

Zeb grabbed Alexsandr’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. A genial arm around Alexsandr’s shoulders, the two headed back to the _Ghost_.

This time, the stares were more blatant, but Alexsandr found he couldn’t care less.

Zeb roused slowly for once. Usually the kid woke him by jumping off the top bunk and landing heavily by Zeb’s head.

This time, the top bunk was occupied by Kallus, who slept just as quietly as he had when he’d been hurt.

Zeb looked at his left hand, the one Kallus had used to help him stand the night before. If Zeb concentrated, he could still feel the warmth of the much smaller human hand in his, the feel of it pressing against sensitive fur.

Squeezing his hand into a fist, Zeb huffed. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. Shouldn’t have shown off his hideaway to Kallus the night before. He only shared that space with the other Spectres – his _family_.

Spying for the Rebellion did not make Kallus family. It didn’t even make him a Rebel, if Kallus’s own assertions were to be believed.

Zeb was fully aware of all that. He was an adult; he knew that things weren’t always black and white and that Kallus was firmly in the gray right now. Probably dark gray.

But it didn’t stop Zeb from falling asleep around him. It didn’t stop Zeb from missing the feeling of Kallus clinging to his bare chest. It didn’t stop him from wanting more contact with the human.

Zeb got hugs from his family every now and again, mostly from Hera. But other than that, outside of a fight, no one had really touched him. No one until the hypothermic Kallus, that was.

All of a sudden, Zeb remembered what it felt like to sleep next to someone, to hold them close and be held close in return.

He wanted more of it. He _ached_ for it – from Kallus and Kallus alone.

It was wrong. Kallus didn’t want him that way; Kallus saw him and his touch as merely a means to an end. Kallus didn’t feel the same way.

_Does he?_

_Of course he doesn’t_.

This had to stop.

Sighing, Zeb grabbed the edge of the top bunk and swung himself out of bed. He leaned on the top bunk, taking a moment to look at Kallus, asleep but not peaceful. From the expression on his face, the man was having a nightmare or was in some physical pain.

Zeb was tempted to wake him with a hand on his back or something equally gentle, but he held back. “Kal,” he said, quietly at first, but repeated the name louder until Kallus jerked awake.

Bleary-eyed and drowsy, he blinked twice at Zeb, but those two blinks were all it took to wake Kallus up fully. “Zeb,” the man said as a greeting.

Zeb pointed at the chrono on the wall. “You’ve got a thing with Saari this morning. Since she’ll be poking and prodding, I figured you’d want a sonic and some food first, so time to get up.”

“Good thought,” Kallus said, sitting up and sliding to the floor.

Zeb fixed some of their ever-present waffles and caf while Kallus was in the refresher, ready with a plate and a mug to hand him when he walked into the common room.

Ezra wandered in next, hair tousled and still half-asleep. He slid into the bench by the dejarik table without even registering that it was Kallus sitting there and not Kanan. The kid leaned over on Kallus’s shoulder and stole a waffle from his plate.

Kallus froze and looked to Zeb, obviously asking what to do. 

Zeb shrugged and threw a fork at Ezra’s head. The kid caught it deftly and sat up to fuss. “That’s not funny,” he grumped. “What if I didn’t sense it through the Force?”

Laughing, Zeb said, “Then you’d need a bandage. Right now you need glasses.”

Ezra looked to his side and nearly jumped out of his seat when he realized he’d been sitting next to Kallus the whole time. “Karabast!” he swore. “Uh, sorry, Agent Kallus.”

“I’m not an agent anymore,” Kallus reminded him, with less irritation than Zeb expected. “Looks like my new title will be Fulcrum.”

“Yeah.” Ezra’s shoulders slumped. “Just like Ahsoka.”

“Hey,” said Hera as she walked in, fully dressed and looking ready to take on the day. “There are multiple Fulcrums, remember? Ahsoka was just one. Now Kallus is one. There are others out there.”

Kanan came next, holding Sabine’s hand for guidance, and Zeb noticed Kallus worked to control his reaction. 

The Jedi had a bandage wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. The bandage, good as it was, didn’t completely cover the harsh red burns on his nose. It certainly didn’t cover the beaten down expression on his face.

“Hey, Kanan,” Zeb said, trying to stay upbeat. “Waffles? We got jogan syrup today.”

“No thank you,” Kanan said, sad but polite.

“Kanan, ya gotta eat–”

Kanan cut him off. “I’m _fine_ , Zeb.” The Jedi turned his face unerringly toward Kallus. “We have a guest.”

Kallus immediately scooted out from behind the dejarik table and stood, acting like he wanted to flee, but all his escapes were cut off at the moment. He gave Zeb a desperate look.

Kanan held a hand out as if to calm the room. “It’s okay, Kallus. Finish your meal.”

“I didn’t want to take anyone’s spot,” Kallus said. “I’ll be fine standing.”

Zeb snatched Kallus’s plate from the table, handing it to him, and turned on Kanan, who sat down with the help of the kids. Letting all his disappointment bleed into his voice, Zeb said, “You’re eating something, mate.”

He stared at the bandage, as if Kanan could see his disapproving expression. Kanan faced him back. Neither said anything.

“Oh, for Force’s sake,” said Hera. “Kanan, eat the damn waffles. Zeb’s right this time.”

“This time,” Sabine added for emphasis.

“Thanks, Sabine,” Zeb said sarcastically, handing her a plate, too. “See if I give you any syrup. Ezra’s my new favorite now.”

Ezra cheered, but was cut off when Sabine laughed. 

“That’ll last, what? Five minutes?”

Zeb grinned at her. “Yeah, prob’ly.” He made to ruffle her brightly colored hair, but she ducked out of the way.

Glancing at Kallus, Zeb frowned again. The man was leaning against the wall in a way that made him seem much smaller than he actually was, clearly broadcasting his desire to be elsewhere, at least to Zeb, who’d spent nearly every day of the last two and a half months with the man.

Were there too many people? Was that the problem? Surely he didn’t feel threatened by the Spectres – only one who hadn’t agreed to act normal around him was Chopper and that little bastard–

Was nowhere to be seen. Well, that was worrisome.

“Where’s Chopper?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl.

“Sent him to help AP-5 do munitions inventory,” Hera said. “You got caf?”

Zeb pointed with a toe toward the galley. “Right in there.”

“Good man.” Hera patted his shoulder as she walked by.

Kallus straightened up, bringing himself to his full height, his face changing into something stricter as well. It seemed a lot of effort just for him to ask, “Where do I put my dishes?”

Zeb wasn’t going to judge, however. “Uh, sink in the galley. It’s, um, whose turn is it?”

“Mine,” said Hera, leaning in the galley door with her caf. “I’ll take it, Kallus.”

Since everyone else had food, Zeb finally ate his own breakfast as quickly as possible. It was obvious Kallus was uncomfortable – for whatever unknown reason – and he wanted to get him out of there as soon as he could.

Hera barely stopped giving Sabine and Ezra instructions for the day to take everyone’s plates. Zeb hung around just long enough for her to pause.

“Just wanted to say sorry I haven’t been here,” he said quietly. “Yesterday, today, tomorrow.”

Hera placed a light hand on his arm, rubbing her thumb reassuringly. “You’ve got your hands full. Go on, get him taken care of. We’ll still be here once he’s off on his mission.”

Zeb nodded, standing up a little taller. Perhaps using more touch than he probably needed to, Zeb led Kallus out of the _Ghost_ , a hand on his back.

It was early enough still that the nighttime chill hadn’t left the air yet, though the base was already busy. The medbay bustled with activity when they walked in.

A few medics glanced their way, but kept at their work – everyone except Saari, however. She waved at them from across the bay, motioning to a free bed.

“Morning!” she said cheerily when they approached. “So, I get to sign you off for this undercover mission, huh?”

Kallus nodded. “I don’t foresee any complications.”

“Of course you don’t,” she said, pulling out her datapad. “I’m gonna check anyway. Okay, we had one of our slicers download your medical information from the Empire. Mind looking at this and making sure they got the right file?”

Kallus scanned the datapad. “That’s me,” he acknowledged.

Saari nodded. “Bunkurd Sewer Disorder at twelve? That had to be nasty.”

Kallus looked down a little and shrugged. “It was just part of living in the lower levels of Coruscant. Honestly, everyone was surprised I didn’t get it sooner.”

 _Huh_. Zeb hadn’t figured Kallus for being from Coruscant’s lower levels. _I thought he was some upper class kid who had nothing but the best. But if he was a sewer-level kid…_

_There’s a lot I don’t know about him. Prob’ly won’t ever know about him._

Saari glanced up at Zeb. “I’ve gotta do a full physical. D’you mind stepping out?”

Zeb blinked, caught up in his thoughts. “Oh. Uh. Sure.” He took a step back and Saari closed a curtain around herself and Kallus.

Zeb considered going and waiting in the front of the medbay, where there were chairs, but decided against it. He stood in front of the curtained-off bed, arms crossed, disgruntled expression on his face to discourage anyone from coming closer.

He wasn’t _actually_ upset, of course, but he’d long since learned it was easier to scare people away than it was to deal with them up close and personally.

“How’s the leg feel?” he heard Saari ask.

“I haven’t truly tested it yet, but it feels fine.”

“Good. You had a hairline fracture and those usually heal well, but I want to be sure. Before you go to Intelligence for the day, go use the gym and put some pressure on it. I’d rather find out you’re going to need painkillers here than for you to have to come up with some excuse for an Imp medic.”

“I can do that.”

Zeb listened as Saari checked Kallus over: vitals and movement and dexterity. It was all rather boring, actually, as long as he kept his mind off the fact that she’d had him undress most of the way.

“Remember I told you about my cousin?” Saari asked. Zeb’s ears perked up, as this was new information to him.

“I do,” Kallus confirmed. “ISB, but I probably wouldn’t know him.”

“Heard from my aunt that he was transferred to Lothal, probably after you went missing. So watch out for him, will you? Last name’s Vornen, just like me.”

Zeb could picture Kallus’s expression here: eyebrows cocked, a slight frown, something between amusement and disdain. “How do you mean? Should I avoid him, or are you asking me to care for him?”

Saari chuckled a little. “Just… get him out if things go to shit, will you? If you can. It’ll make up for how many of my damn bacta bandages you used up.”

Kallus was quiet for a moment. “I’ll try,” he said. “I can make no promises, but I will try.”

“All I ask,” Saari said. “All right, get dressed again and you’re good to go. Unless something bad happens when you go to the gym, I’m signing you off for undercover work.”

When he came out from behind the curtain, Kallus eyed Zeb. “I take it you heard all that?”

Zeb nodded sheepishly. “Gym?” he offered.

Kallus looked down at himself. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Kal, this is the Rebellion. You really think we stock gym clothes for all the various species? We do good to dress ourselves normally. Work out in whatever you’ve got.”

“I– I suppose so. I hadn’t thought about that.” Kallus seemed a little surprised.

“Lotsa stuff different here than in the Empire, I bet,” Zeb said, trying to give Kallus something to connect to. “If you were gonna be here longer, it’d be a lot to get used to. But you just gotta make it to tomorrow morning.”

“Indeed.” Kallus stared off past Zeb’s shoulder. “Tomorrow morning, that’s all.”

“C’mon. Follow me,” Zeb said, resisting the urge to physically guide the way again.

The gym turned out to be a mistake. A big mistake. In fact, nearly the whole rest of the day was disastrous, at least to Alexsandr’s mind.

Alexsandr took one look around the Rebel’s makeshift gym and realized that he’d never used equipment so run-down and rickety-looking. Not even in his Academy days had he seen such equipment.

Nor had he seen so many beings exercising in what appeared to be mostly underwear. There were a few flight suits and a few pants here and there, but for the most part, it seemed people just stripped down and went for it.

Looking desperately at Zeb, Alexsandr asked, “Is it a requirement to dress so?”

Zeb laughed, the sound reverberating like a drum in Alexsandr’s chest. “If it bothers you, do it fully clothed. I usually do.”

“Yes, but _you_ wear a jumpsuit,” Alexsandr felt compelled to point out. “You’re practically in a gym suit already, minus the armor.”

“Will it make you feel better if I work out with you?” Zeb asked with a sigh.

The mental image of Zeb exercising next to him almost caused Alexsandr’s mind to stutter to a stop.

 _Sweat running through that purple fur, making it darker, wet, fragrant,_ his traitorous mind said. _Muscles making that same fur ripple with effort._

 ** _No_** _,_ he told himself firmly. _I am not going down that path. I am about to leave the Rebels, most likely for good. Thinking about Zeb in any manner other than a comrade does me more harm than good._

“Spot me, please,” Alexsandr said, heading for the weight machines. He was sure his performance would be poor after two months of only being able to do what workouts he could with his own body weight in his cell, but perhaps Zeb wouldn’t judge. He knew what Alexsandr had been through.

Zeb had spotted him some, worked next to him some, and, for a reason Alexsandr couldn’t figure out, stood and watched him some. He supposed Zeb might be interested in seeing a different species exercise, but surely Kanan worked out some and Zeb had seen him? There were plenty of other humans in the gym, as well.

It was all very curious but Alexsandr was determined not to pursue those questions.

Thank the stars, his leg did not give out under him as he tested its strength. He was a little sore after attempting to jog, but nothing that slowed him down too much. He could regain his endurance easily once he had access to a proper gym in Imperial facilities.

His Intelligence briefing was much more hands on than the first one: this time, he received his new uniforms, was shown how to use equipment for covert recordings and messaging, and made to memorize several code phrases and safe house locations – mainly the homes of sympathetic beings.

As an ISB agent, he’d known a few of the Rebels’ contacts and hideouts, but he hadn’t realized how extensive a network they’d managed to build right under Imperial noses.

_No wonder Zeb had been so confident on Bahryn when he talked about the Rebellion recruiting people._

Alexsandr was able to help update the Intelligence database while he was there, pointing out the compromised contacts and locations. With luck, he’d be able to keep the others hidden from the Empire.

By the time Alexsandr and Zeb returned to the _Ghost_ , it was late enough that everyone except Chopper had gone to bed.

Chopper made a blatting noise at them and Zeb kicked at the droid.

“Hey,” protested Alexsandr softly. “He merely said we were out late.”

Zeb looked at him. “You understand the rust bucket? Thought Imperials didn’t care about droids.”

Alexsandr shrugged, nodding at Chopper. “ISB cared. Droids hear a lot, carry a lot of information. It’s good to know what they’re up to.”

_Wah-wahhhh-wah-wah-wahhh._

“That wasn’t polite,” Alexsandr said. “Just because he doesn’t speak your language doesn’t mean you should say that sort of thing.”

Zeb shook his head. “You talk to Chop, then. I’m getting a drink.”

Alexsandr perked up at that. “Am I allowed one?”

“Yeah.” Zeb grinned tiredly at him. “C’mon then. A drink and then bed.”

_A last drink with my… rescuer… before I leave him forever. I’ll take it._

“I’m sorry, Chopper,” he told the droid politely. “I’m going with Zeb. We’ll have to talk another time.”

The _Ghost_ ’s offering of drinks was meager but varied. Zeb grabbed some unfamiliar drink in a green can and handed Alexsandr a yellow bottle he recognized as a Tatooine-based lager. 

“Cheers,” said Zeb, opening his can and taking a sip.

_Don’t notice how the can is the same color as his eyes, Alexsandr. **Stop it**_ **.**

“So, ya ready?” Zeb asked. “Tomorrow, big day.”

Alexsandr frowned. “If you’re asking if I can play Imperial again, I ought to be able to.”

“More thinking about if you _wanted_ to, but that works,” Zeb laughed.

“I’m–” Alexsandr paused. He’d been about to say, _I’m perfectly fine going back_ , but the truth was the opposite. No one else was around, so he admitted, “No, I don’t _want_ to go back. But I also don’t want to go back in that cell, so at least this way I have a modicum of freedom.”

Zeb hummed an agreeable noise, sipping at his drink.

Quiet fell, the sounds of the _Ghost_ the only noises filling the background. 

Alexsandr wanted to say something. He _ached_ to say something, to let out what he tried so hard to hold back.

But that would ruin things with Zeb. And even if by some mystery, Zeb did return his feelings, what was the point of confessing right before they would be forcibly separated?

Alexsandr sat in the silence, sipping his drink, barely alcoholic enough to get him tipsy. He sat and enjoyed the feel of Zeb’s presence next to him, the occasional touches of soft fur against delicate skin as their arms brushed, the warmth radiating from Zeb’s body.

He didn’t even notice when Zeb fell asleep, leaned back against the wall, chin tucked to his chest. 

Well, he _noticed,_ just not right away. He noticed right about the time his eyelids began to close on their own; he’d looked to see if Zeb was ready to move to bed, but the lasat was already asleep.

Alexsandr considered waking him. He considered going to the bunk without him.

Alexsandr did neither of those things; instead, he leaned back against the wall and drifted off as well.

Zeb woke with a crick in his neck and a warmth against his side. He smelled cold, dry air, and the remains of the previous night’s drink. Even so, it took him a few seconds to sort out that he was in the common room, not his bunk.

It took a few more seconds to realize that the heat he felt was Kallus, asleep with his head against Zeb’s shoulder.

Zeb’s heart broke, remembering that Kallus would leave him that morning. Realizing this might be his last chance to say anything at all to Kallus in private. Knowing that he might never see Kallus again.

It was _stupid_ to the nth degree. Kallus should’ve been his enemy. Three months before, they’d both been spoiling to kill the other. Yet, now, they could fall asleep safely in each others’ company.

Zeb lightly combed some golden hair out of Kallus’s face with his claws, marveling at the dusting of tiny tan spots on Kallus’s fair skin. He’d asked Sabine and she told him those were _freckles_.

Lasats didn’t have anything like freckles, just different shapes and shades of stripes. He’d been blessed with dark stripes that were considered attractive, but that hadn’t mattered after Lasan fell. It wasn’t like he ran into many lasats anymore.

Freckles, though. Freckles were very attractive. Spots for his stripes. 

“ _Ni viri’ka_ ,” he murmured softly. _My dear friend._

Zeb let his hand fall, gently brushing Kallus’s beard as he did so.

The touch woke Kallus. He stirred, sleepily looking up at Zeb.

Kallus sat up quickly, coming to full alertness in a second or two. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay, Kal,” Zeb said. “We both fell asleep out here.”

Kallus nodded, running both hands through this hair. Magically, that seemed to tame his longer locks and he looked nearly good to go for the day. “I’ve, uh. I’ve got to shave and dye my hair,” he said, looking around the room.

Zeb pointed out the bundle from Intelligence sitting by the door. “That what you’re looking for?”

“It is.” Kallus slid out from behind the dejarik table, stretching. His shirt rode up as he did so, exposing more pale freckled skin.

 _Ashla_ , Zeb thought, but he couldn’t find the words to finish his prayer.

“Will you help?” Kallus asked.

“Me?” Zeb was baffled. “I can do the shave, but your hair?”

“Well, my choices are you, a blind man, a twi’lek woman with no hair, and two teenagers. While I have the utmost confidence Sabine could help me dye my hair, I don’t know that I want to let her anywhere near my hairstyle.” Kallus smiled the slightest bit as he spoke.

Zeb watched him for a moment and was struck with a singular desire. “I’ll help,” he agreed, “but first I wanna give you something.”

Kallus frowned, but dutifully followed Zeb to the cockpit. Zeb reached up and undid a ceiling locker, grabbing Kallus’s bo-rifle from within it.

“It’s yours,” he said, handing it over. He didn’t even let himself consider that Kallus might shoot him with it. “You should take it with you.”

Kallus took the weapon carefully, with respect. It was obvious to Zeb that he’d missed holding it. He ran through a quick exercise, checking all the moving parts without expanding it fully, ending by bringing it to his face and taking a quick sniff.

Zeb got that. A bo-rifle kept as meticulously as his and Kallus’s were smelled of ozone and blaster oil and cold metal. To a warrior, it was reassuring. 

He watched Kallus eagerly, waiting to see the man sling it across his back where it belonged – not back in some dusty locker.

Instead, Kallus looked sad. He held the bo-rifle back out to Zeb. “I can’t take this,” he said.

Zeb pushed against his hands. “No. You won it honorably. The _Boosahn Keeraw._ ”

Kallus smiled, still unhappy. “No, Zeb, I mean I _can’t_. A bo-rifle is too recognizable. I can’t bring it with me.”

“Oh.” Zeb carefully took the bo-rifle back. “I’ll hold it for you, then.”

Kallus shook his head sadly. “No, don’t do that. Give it to someone more worthy than I was.”

 _He’s talkin’ as if he’s not gonna come back. He doesn’t think he’s coming back._ Zeb bit his lip, unable to think of something to say. He wanted to argue, but he knew how dangerous undercover work was. Not all their spies came back.

_Ahsoka didn’t come back._

Nodding, he put the bo-rifle back in the locker, back with his bo-rifle and the confiscated blasters they’d all been trying to keep out of Kallus’s hands.

“‘Spose we better get you looking right,” Zeb said, not wanting to dwell on the bo-rifles. 

“I suppose so.” Kallus looked heartbroken, eyes still glued to the ceiling compartment.

After a second, he turned and led the way back to the refresher, grabbing his bag along the way. Zeb trailed after, wishing he were following a more confident man.

Kallus pulled out a hair trimmer and walked Zeb through giving him a more appropriate Imperial haircut. It wasn’t the same as his old one, being shorter and more severe, and Zeb hated seeing all that hair fall to the floor. 

He’d _liked_ Kallus’s hair longer. Zeb liked it still, but it wasn’t the same.

“Zeb,” Kallus said unexpectedly as Zeb applied the dye to his short hair. “You’ve been kind to me when you shouldn’t have. You saved my life, more than once. You saved me from going crazy in that cell. You got me _out_ of that cell.”

Zeb shrugged, unsure where this was going. “I was just doing what decent beings do.”

“Were you?” Kallus caught his eyes in the mirror, but Zeb couldn’t hold his gaze. 

“I try to,” Zeb said. “It’s part of what it is to be a– a Rebel. We Imperial survivors have to stick together.”

Kallus sighed. “I’m going to have to be Imperial again. I’m going to do things you wouldn’t like.”

“I know that,” Zeb protested.

“Do you really?” Kallus shook his head. “Do you know what that might mean? I’m going to have to look at the bigger picture, to make small sacrifices that add up to larger gains. I might have to hurt Phoenix Cell to save the whole Rebellion.”

Frowning, Zeb paused, almost through massaging the dye into Kallus’s scalp. “You’ll make the right choice.”

Kallus sighed again, sadder this time. “I don’t want to. I hope I’m never forced to choose between you and the Rebellion.”

 _‘You’._ Zeb’s whole body went on alert. _He means the Spectres. He can’t really mean me._

“It’s time to let the dye sit,” he said, checking the bottle for instructions.

Kallus rubbed his cheeks. “I had better get rid of this. Can I see the trimmer?”

Zeb handed over the trimmer, fingers brushing Kallus’s, then went to the galley to wash the dye off his hands before it set and stained his fingers red, too. When he returned, Kallus had one cheek bare and was starting on the other.

Leaning in the doorway, Zeb just watched. He hated to see that hair go, too. He’d had some not-very-clean thoughts of how Kallus’s facial hair would hold Zeb’s scent.

Kallus finished shaving and cleaned the razor before catching Zeb’s eyes in the mirror. “What is it?” he asked.

 _You look so different and I still want you._ “Time to rinse,” he said, stepping in the shower to swap it from sonic to water. After he saw Kallus off, Zeb would refill the tanks from Atollon’s groundwater.

Kallus slid past him in the small refresher – _Force, that was tight!_ – and stripped down to his underwear.

Zeb started to step out of the refresher for modesty’s sake, but Kallus called for him to stay. Or at least, said it was okay for him to stay.

So Zeb stayed.

He handed Kallus a towel when he stepped out of the shower and waited for the man to dry off as much as he could. Zeb started to hand over the bag of Imperial clothes, but his stomach did flips.

He had to say _something._ If either one of them walked out of this refresher without saying anything, it would never get said.

Zeb couldn’t let Kallus go not knowing.

“Kal,” he said softly.

Kallus looked up at him, eyes large and questioning. “Yes, Zeb?”

 _He has to know,_ Zeb thought. _He has to be able to read it all over me._ “I just… yer about to leave and I…” He stumbled over the words in his head and with his mouth. “Karabast. I was told to take my chance, and, well, yeah, I am. I’m not lettin’ you go off alone again without…”

“Without…?” Kallus prompted. He didn’t look disgusted by Zeb’s ramblings; if anything, his eyes had grown wider and his breath quickened.

Zeb took a step forward and put his hands on Kallus’s shoulders. Carefully, he leaned over and kissed one of Kallus’s freshly-shaven cheeks.

He closed his eyes as he pulled back, afraid he’d done the wrong thing, afraid to see disgust in Kallus’s eyes.

Instead, he felt Kallus’s hand on his own cheek. Peeking, Zeb saw Kallus leaning in, mouth open a little, eyes closed.

Their lips touched, just the slightest bit. It was enough for Zeb to be able to tell Kallus had a sweet taste to him – _is that all humans or just Kal?_ – and to hear him moan.

“ _HEY!”_ came an annoyed voice from outside the refresher, accompanied by a fist hitting the door itself. “Kriff it, Zeb, I gotta go! Hurry up!”

The moment was completely and utterly broken. By the time Zeb blinked, Kallus had knelt down and started to clean up the shorn hair. Zeb grabbed the Imperial uniform and laid it out on the counter for him and then slid the refresher door open.

Ezra stood there, looking pissed – but nowhere near as pissed as Zeb was.

“Ezra, I am going to _end you_ ,” he growled. “Shoulda done it when we first met, saved myself a heap of trouble.”

“Yeah, fine,” Ezra said, completely unbothered. “But can I use the ‘fresher first?”

Zeb shoved him. “Kal’s in there. Go use a plant outside.”

Ezra’s eyes widened. “You weren’t–”

“I wasn’t anything,” Zeb said, even though he most certainly had been. “Now get!”

Appearing to take Zeb seriously, Ezra ran to the ladder, disappearing from view. Zeb stumbled to the galley and started making caf; anything to occupy his hands and his mind and not dwell on that–

–that almost kiss. He couldn’t quite call it a real one, as they’d barely touched. It wasn’t nothing, however.

_Kal has to feel the same way. He could have stopped me if he didn’t. He **would** have stopped me if he didn’t._

But there wasn’t going to be a chance to try again. After Ezra’s loud display, everyone would be awake and as soon as Kallus was ready, he was supposed to report to Intelligence to be shipped off.

Zeb banged his fist on the counter, heart fluttering and dying in his chest. **_Damn_** _that kid._

The smell of caf drew everyone out of their rooms, and by the time Kallus stepped out of the refresher a complete stranger – red hair, green eyes, Imperial clothing and the demeanor to go with it – Zeb had given fresh caf to Kanan, Hera, and Sabine. Ezra tried to sneak some, but Zeb had stood resolutely in front of the machine and refused to let him by.

It was petty, but Zeb was feeling petty.

“Caf?” he asked Kallus.

“No, thank you,” Kallus said. “I had better get going.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is,” Zeb insisted, and led the way into the hold. There, with a modicum of privacy, he spoke quietly so it didn’t echo. “Kal…”

Kallus placed a hand on his chest. “Zeb, don’t. We both know that I’m probably never going to see you again. If I do, we’ll be on opposite sides of a blaster. Trying to do anything right now will just make it harder.”

“Kal, I–” Zeb clenched his fists, frustrated. “I want you to know–”

“I think I know.” Kallus looked Zeb in the eyes again, his colored contacts making them strange and unfamiliar. “All I’m going to say is that if we’d had the chance, I would have liked to kiss you properly, Garazeb Orrelios.”

“We still can,” Zeb said, a little desperately.

“Not here. Not now.” Kallus gave a little smile. “Take care of my bo-rifle, will you?”

Zeb stood there, helpless, watching as Kallus walked down the ramp of the _Ghost_ into the mists.

He wondered if he’d ever see Kallus again, or if his last memories of the man would be of warm lips and cold morning air.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been _six months_ since Zeb saw Kallus last. Six long months that were about to end just as soon as this Imperial shuttle landed after Ezra’s extraction mission.

Zeb waited, body buzzing, as the shuttle touched ground and lowered the ramp.

No one exited. Not Ezra, not Kanan, not Rex, not Kallus. The shuttle – and strangely enough, the Atollon base – was silent.

Zeb crept up the ramp. As he did so, he noticed a human on the ground, clad head to toe in black, helmeted like an Imperial, positioned as if they’d been trying to crawl out of the cockpit but didn’t have the strength to do so.

A whimper echoed through the ship and Zeb realized the human was still alive. 

The closer he got, the more his fur stood on end. He smelled blood, lots of it, and underneath a devastatingly familiar scent, one he’d only smelled in brief whiffs the first few days after Kallus left; on a towel or a bedsheet or clothes left behind. 

For the first time ever, Zeb hoped his nose was wrong.

Zeb knelt and removed the helmet, confirming his worst fear: it wasn’t just any human on the shuttle floor, it was Kallus.

Not Kallus as he’d last seen him, disguised and put-together.

No, this Kallus had his blond hair grown out, his sideburns thick on his cheeks. It was Kallus as he’d been before the disguise.

_Why did he let all that hair grow out? He had to have known that was a bad idea._

“Zeb,” Kallus croaked, reaching up with a bloodied hand.

Zeb caught his arm and looked down. Kallus’s shirt was ripped in multiple spots, revealing what appeared to be vibroblade wounds. “Karabast, Kal, we gotta get you to the medbay.” He looked to the cockpit, but saw no one else. “Where are the others?”

“They knew. They knew you were coming,” Kallus said, voice growing weaker. 

Zeb pulled Kallus into his lap, disregarding the blood seeping into his clothing and his fur. “Kal…” he said, an ominous feeling washing over him. “What happened?”

“Vib… vibropikes,” Kallus said weakly. “The others… gone.”

Refusing to believe what Kallus said, Zeb shook his head, a thousand excuses and reasons it couldn’t be true at the ready. “C’mon, Kal, they just got another shuttle, right?”

Kallus didn’t answer. His golden brown eyes were glazing over, not quite focusing on Zeb’s face. He reached up, presumably to touch Zeb’s face, but he didn’t make it the whole way before his arm collapsed to his side.

Zeb cupped his face, realizing he was leaving streaks of blood on Kallus’s cheeks; Kallus’s own blood painted there by Zeb’s fingers. “Let me call a medic,” he said, but he didn’t reach for his comlink right away.

Kallus’s eyes moved from his face to look at some point on the ceiling above them, pupils dilating. 

Zeb quickly called for a medic – no one answered, but surely someone heard – and placed his hand on Kallus’s chest. “Hang in there,” he said. “C’mon, Kal, you gotta hold on. Medic’s coming. We’ll get you in bacta.”

Beneath Zeb’s hand, Kallus’s heart fluttered, beats light and irregular.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t beating anymore.

Zeb’s breath stopped, too. “ ** _KAL!_** ” he cried, thumping the man’s chest. He knew there was a method to try and keep a human alive until medical help arrived, but he didn’t know it.

Why didn’t he know it? He worked with humans; he should know it.

He should know it so he could help Kallus.

But Zeb didn’t know it and he couldn’t. Kallus stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

Zeb tried to think of what to do, how to save Kallus, how to save everyone. He–

–woke with a loud gasp, tangled in his blanket. Zeb flailed for a second, trying to shake the blanket off.

Above him, Ezra grumbled. “Go back to sleep, Zeb. It’s just another nightmare.”

Zeb rolled out of bed instead. In the bright lights of the refresher, he looked at his hands.

Logically, he knew there was no blood on them. Kriff, there wasn’t even any more of Kallus’s hair dye on them, though he’d had some between his fingers for weeks.

That didn’t stop him from expecting to see Kallus’s blood.

The nightmares were so real and he couldn’t escape them. Each one terrified him into thinking that Kallus had been caught.

But, thanks to some Intelligence Division members Zeb had bullied into answering, as far as he could tell, Kallus hadn’t. He sent intel regularly, useful intel. He hadn’t used any of the code phrases that meant he was being followed or watched or was otherwise compromised. Unlike in Zeb’s dream, Kallus was successfully operating as Fulcrum and safely – or as safely as one could be amongst Imperial ranks - undercover; there was no need to extract him. As much as Zeb would have liked to find a reason to get Kallus back, it didn’t seem plausible.

Zeb leaned against the sink and checked himself in the mirror.

He looked like he was awake in the middle of the night. No, he _looked_ like he’d been awake in the middle of many nights in a row.

While it was true he couldn’t shake the fear of losing Kallus, Zeb also couldn’t stop himself from worrying over Kallus. It affected his sleep, his appetite, even his ability to focus when they weren’t on missions. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake a bad feeling about the whole setup.

If it weren’t for the nights, six months would have slipped away like nothing for Kallus. 

His days were spent in the Lothal Imperial Complex as Lieutenant Calix, a mid-level communications officer on the fast track for promotion. He tried to play the part of a man eager for recognition among younger peers yet entirely average at his work – to his dismay, Kallus found it exceedingly difficult _not_ to excel at his job; his competitive nature was still strong, even after his time as a prisoner. It _was_ odd being a low-level officer once more, but Kallus was good at playacting deference toward superiors that didn’t deserve it.

The nights, however. His nights were spent in a shared bunkroom, attempting to sleep without dreaming. It never worked, however, and that last morning with Zeb replayed in his head over and over and over. Waking up next to his– to _Zeb_ , holding his bo-rifle once more, the interrupted kiss…

Kallus would give his right arm to go back and kiss Zeb one more time.

That wasn’t in the realm of the possible, nor would it ever be, so Kallus tried his best to ignore the hollow ache gnawing at his chest and the burning memory of Zeb’s lips on his cheek. All he could do now was to avoid detection as long as possible, providing the Rebellion with information that would help keep the Spectres – _Zeb_ – alive.

So Kallus focused on his days, doing his job, filing away information for Fulcrum to send, and attempting not to notice how much he missed the friendliness of the Rebel base. Even if he’d just interacted with the Spectres, Saari, Rau, and his guards, they were all warmer than any Imperial he had ever worked with.

Just in his short time being briefed by Rebel Intelligence, he’d seen the Rebels chat as they worked, congratulate each other on jobs well done, even pat each other on the back or lean on a colleague’s shoulders to see what they were working on. The camaraderie was obvious to any being with eyes.

The Lothal Communications Department, not so much. Before Bahryn, Kallus wouldn’t have thought twice about the way things were run – strict discipline, silence except for the clacking of terminal keyboards and buttons, barely even talking to coworkers at meal breaks. In fact, Kallus would have approved of it, even participated happily because it was the _right_ way to run things.

The problem was, he’d seen that things could be different and still be efficient. Still be effective. The Intelligence briefing he’d received from the Rebels had been as in-depth as anything he’d ever received from the Empire. The Rebels had managed that while still allowing him to build an actual friendship with Zeb. 

Well, _something_ with Zeb.

He wanted more of it.

Kallus sat in Ezra Bridger’s old tower, staring at the Fulcrum transmitter. It wasn’t quite a holocom – it wouldn’t visually broadcast anything but the Fulcrum symbol – but it _did_ disguise his voice somewhat.

He didn’t have much to send this week. He was still fairly low in the Communications hierarchy and had to extrapolate a lot of information based on the communiques that passed his terminal.

Thankfully, he’d proved himself trustworthy – or so his superiors believed – and he was going to be allowed to handle more sensitive information in the future.

Kallus recorded his message quickly – _Pryce is requesting reinforcements from Grand Moff Tarkin. No word who yet, but expect your Lothal sector activities to become more difficult._ – but hesitated before signing off. 

Just like every time, Kallus wanted to say something to Zeb, maybe some phrase or word that he would know was meant just for him, but it wasn’t the place nor the time. Any identifying information had to be kept out of the messages for _everyone’s_ safety, even at the expense of his slowly breaking heart.

“Fulcrum out,” he said, switching off the equipment and scrambling the transmission data.

He looked at the transmitter, deep in thought. Kallus had figured out a way to send a voice-only message to Zeb that would _probably_ go undetected, especially if he set it on a delay and was ‘monitoring’ transmissions himself when it went.

It would only work once, however, so he hoarded it, waiting for the right moment, the right words.

It wasn’t time yet. He didn’t have the words yet. 

He wasn’t sure he ever would.

Kallus did everything he could to destroy the evidence he’d ever been in the tower, then made his way carefully back to the Imperial Complex, stashing his speeder bike once he was in Capital City. The next step was stopping in a bar for a drink – it’d be easy to say he’d been drinking all evening if there was _some_ alcohol on his breath.

He only made it through half his drink before a scout trooper approached him. “Lieutenant Calix? Sir?”

Kallus blinked, slowly, letting irritation bleed onto his face. “Yes, trooper?”

“Governor Pryce has summoned you. We’ve been looking all over.”

_Pryce? What could she want with a communications officer?_

“I’ve been here,” Kallus said, pulling credits out of his pocket for the drink. “But you’d better take me to her.”

Pryce barely bothered to look up at him when he entered her office. “Lieutenant Calix,” she said, more statement than question.

“Yes, sir.” Kallus held himself at attention, hoping she continued to pay him little attention. He’d never worked with Governor Pryce before, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have known what Agent Kallus looked like. His nearly two years on Lothal had been technically under her command and even though she’d spent all her time on Coruscant, it wouldn’t be strange for her to have studied his file.

There was no recognition in her eyes when she finally deigned to look at him. “Two things, Lieutenant. First, you are being transferred in the morning.” She handed him a datapad, rank tabs, and a new code cylinder. “You are also being promoted to Captain. Congratulations.”

 _A promotion and a transfer? This does not sound good for Fulcrum._ “Sir. May I ask where I am being transferred?”

She blinked at him disdainfully. “The _Chimaera_. You’ll find the details on your datapad. You’re dismissed, Captain.”

 _The Chimaera. Admiral Thrawn’s flagship, currently assigned to the Batonn sector. This isn’t good._ “Yes, sir.” Kallus saluted and spun precisely on his heels, as befitted an Imperial officer.

Almost as soon as he left Pryce’s office, Kallus found himself in lockstep with ISB-132, Agent Vornen. The young man was enthusiastic about his job in a way Kallus hadn’t been since his twenties, but still inexperienced enough that Kallus felt confident about his ability to elude notice. Enthusiasm made for a fine work ethic, but often produced less refined results.

So far, Kallus had kept from being noticed by the young agent. Apparently not anymore.

“I hear you’ve been reassigned, Lieutenant.”

Kallus flashed the new rank tab at Vornen. “Captain now, sir.”

Vornen gave him a cold smile. “ _Captain_ Calix, my apologies. The _Chimaera_?”

“Yes, sir.” Kallus looked down at the young man as they walked. “Should I be concerned that you know this?”

“I’m just curious why Grand Admiral Thrawn requested you personally for his communications liaison.”

_Communications liaison? That’s a position working directly for Thrawn. Good for intel, bad for my cover. Thrawn is supposed to be very sharp._

“I hadn’t heard that he requested me personally, Agent. You would know more than I would; I just received my orders. _Grand_ Admiral?”

“Yes, Grand Admiral. The Emperor promoted him after the victory at Batonn.”

Kallus’s stomach did a flip. He’d handled some of the messages sent to Pryce about Batonn. It’d been a mission to stop a small insurrection, but had turned into a massacre of insurgents and civilians alike.

 _There was a point when that wouldn’t have bothered me,_ Kallus realized. _It’s all for the good of the Empire. It’s all to keep order._

“I’ll be joining you on the _Chimaera_ ,” Vornen said.

“I thought you were assigned to the Lothal sector?” Kallus asked, hoping to hear something useful.

“Oh, I am.” Vornen gave that cold smile again, so perfect for an ISB agent. Kallus was certain this young man would rise high in the ranks if his cousin Saari didn’t find a way to switch his loyalties. “The Seventh Fleet has been reassigned to Lothal.”

“I see.” _Thrawn, here. I may not know the name of the planet the Rebels were on, but I know it’s in this sector. They may be in trouble. **I** may be in trouble. Thrawn may see right through all of us._

“I expect you’d better go prepare for your transfer,” Vornen said, with a bit of a sneer, before splitting off down a side hallway without another word.

 _That boy was me, once upon a time._ Kallus kept walking, vaguely heading towards his quarters, studying his datapad as he went.

The orders were quite clear: as of tomorrow afternoon, he would be working directly for Thrawn himself, overseeing the Communications Division on the _Chimaera_.

On the one hand, this proximity to Thrawn might grant him greater information-gathering opportunities.

On the other, he would have precious few opportunities to tell the Rebels.

He couldn’t go back out and warn them tonight; two visits to the Capital City bar scene would raise eyebrows.

The only real choice Kallus had was to blow his one chance to send a message to Zeb. If he warned Zeb, the rest of the Rebellion would know. And he could finally tell Zeb that he wished he’d come back, that he wished he _had_ kissed him properly. That he wished he’d never had to leave Zeb’s side.

As Kallus stood in a utility closet with his burner comlink, he had second thoughts.

It’d been six months. Zeb had, hopefully, moved on from whatever it was that they’d had, oh so briefly. Bringing it up again might be a mistake. After all, Kallus’s plan was to stick it out with the Empire until he was caught – and he knew what happened to traitors. 

Taking a deep breath, Kallus jumped into the message. “You know who this is. You need to know the Seventh Fleet is moving to Lothal – and Thrawn is very astute. He will be on your tails the second you show yourselves. Be prepared.

“I may not be able to pass on any more information as I am being reassigned to Thrawn’s flagship. I will do my best to continue as Fulcrum, however, for as long as I am able.”

Kallus paused and scrunched his eyes closed. “And, in case you ever wondered, I still wish I’d had the chance to kiss you properly. I’m sorry I didn’t.

“Fulcrum out.”

Kallus bit back a moan, certain they needed to stay quiet. 

They were kissing again, deeply this time, with no annoying Jedi around to bother them – though one never knew what was going to happen when Jedi were involved. 

Running fingers through the thick fur of Zeb’s arms, Kallus made sure he got more than a taste of Zeb: spicy and intoxicating, just as their first kiss had hinted.

Zeb picked Kallus up off the ground, letting Kallus wrap his legs around his waist, and slammed Kallus back against the hold’s bulkhead. Kallus ran his hands up Zeb’s arms, over his shoulders, and caressed his ears – something he’d been wanting to do since, well, since Bahryn. Those overly expressive ears were soft and delicate, just as Kallus imagined they would be.

Moving from his lips to his neck, Zeb nipped at Kallus’s skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t be covered by the Imperial uniform.

Kallus didn’t care.

In a feat of strength – and leverage – Zeb held Kallus up with only one hand. With the other, he used claws to rip off the black uniform, piece by piece.

 _Good riddance_ , thought Kallus, but he couldn’t form any thoughts more coherent than that as Zeb went to work on his pants, ripping open the front.

Kallus groaned as Zeb touched him. “Zeb,” he managed. “Don’t stop, or I’ll–”

“–You’ll what?” Zeb rumbled, voice lower than usual. He couldn’t decide whether to look at Kallus’s face as he stroked him to full hardness, or at Kallus’s dick. He’d never seen a human one before he’d had to help Kallus. It seemed so– so delicate.

Still, the sight of Kallus as he writhed back against the wall was enough to make Zeb hard, too, straining against his jumpsuit.

“I’m gonna put you down,” he whispered in Kallus’s ear. “Don’t run off on me.”

“Never. Never leaving you again,” moaned Kallus.

Kallus stood on the ground again, uniform in tatters, giving Zeb tantalizing glances at the scars that criss-crossed his body.

Zeb planned on discovering every last single one of those.

He pulled off his jumpsuit as quickly as possible, and stroked his own dick, fully out of his sheath now. It was Kallus’s turn to stare, but it didn’t stop the man from reaching out and running his fingers up Zeb’s length, pure lust in his eyes.

To keep from cursing up a storm as Kallus teased him, Zeb leaned in to kiss him again. He wrapped his hand around Kallus’s dick and caressed it, gently at first, but gaining in pressure as he garnered more and more of a reaction from Kallus.

Kallus returned the favor, his hand mirroring Zeb’s strokes. Zeb gasped and used his free hand to grab Kallus’s head, rubbing their cheeks together, scenting him like it was the most important thing in the world.

And at that moment, it was. Desire flushed through Zeb’s body as he smelled their mingled scents. This new scent was heady and exhilarating and Zeb couldn’t get enough of it.

Zeb felt himself getting close, between the scent and Kallus’s hands on his dick. The strained whimpers from Kallus said he was about to orgasm, too, and Zeb added a twist to his stroke, rotating his grip around Kallus’s dick.

That was all it took to send the man over the edge; with a gasp, Kallus spilled over Zeb’s hand. Zeb came too, at the sight of Kallus’s face and the way he bit his lip trying to keep quiet as he came.

Kallus slumped forward against Zeb’s chest, breathing hard. “Zeb,” he breathed. “I lo–”

–Zeb woke again, this time to a pillow bashing him in the face.

“Ezra!” he growled.

“You were making noises I don’t wanna hear!” the kid protested from the top bunk. “Go to the refresher or wait ‘til I’m gone.”

Zeb’s hair stood on end, mortification flushing over him as he realized he’d managed to come in his jumpsuit from the dream alone. Grumbling to cover his embarrassment, he got up, grabbed a new jumpsuit, and headed for the sonic.

Once there, he leaned back against the shower wall as his fur was being cleaned. The nightmare had turned into these, well, _wet dreams,_ and while the dreams were more pleasant, they were no less bothersome.

Kallus’s message hadn’t helped. The transmission had been one way, so Zeb had no way to contact him back, to let him know he’d more than wondered about the kiss. He’d _fantasized_ about that kiss. About more than a kiss. To know, for sure now, that Kallus had wanted that…

Zeb regretted not making a move earlier. They’d had those days together; they could have used them. They could have shared a bed instead of a bunkroom. They could have…

They could have done a lot of things differently. But it was too late now.

 _“I will do my best to continue as Fulcrum, however, for as long as I am able._ ”

Zeb had listened to the message enough he had it memorized and that sentence worried him more than the warnings about Thrawn. Kallus’s tone of voice was so fatalistic, so resigned. Zeb had been concerned when Kallus told him to give his bo-rifle away, but combining that with the comm message?

Zeb was beyond concerned.

He couldn’t _do_ anything about it, though. They needed the intel from Fulcrum, especially if Thrawn was as smart as he was rumored to be.

After the sonic had done its work, Zeb changed into the fresh jumpsuit and wandered to the common room, a little reluctant to return to bed.

According to the chrono on the wall, it was almost sunrise. At this point, there really wasn’t any point _to_ going back to bed. Zeb started the caf brewing and added water to the waffle mix and sliced some meilooruns for Hera – and for the rest of them if Hera decided to share. It wasn’t actually his turn to make breakfast – it was Kanan’s – but Zeb figured cooking was better than sitting around thinking about Kallus.

And if Zeb snuck a few tastes of syrup to see if he could replicate the taste of Kallus’s kiss, well, no one had to know at this early hour.

“You know, I told you to take it easy on that foot,” Saari fussed, looking up at Zeb from her spot kneeling on the floor.

It’d been a week since Kallus’s last Fulcrum message and Ezra had taken Zeb and Sabine on a mission which, true to form, went well up until the very moment it didn’t. Zeb’s foot had gotten grazed by some shrapnel from one of Sabine’s carefully crafted explosions and Saari had nagged him about it every day since.

“It’ll be fine,” he said again. “Lasats heal pretty quickly.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ll have a nasty scar and it’ll keep hurting where you nicked the tendon. If you’d just let me do a bacta soak–”

“I’m not sittin’ around here with my foot in bacta,” Zeb grumbled. “I got stuff to do. I _am_ head of security around here, you know.”

“I know,” said Saari patiently. “But what good are you chasing someone or something down if you’re limping because you let this get infected?”

Zeb shook his head firmly. “Just put some gel on it and wrap it up. I’ll be fine.”

Saari huffed. “Fine. But don’t come complaining to me when it doesn’t heal right.” She dug in her ever-present pack and pulled out bacta gel pads and bandages. She wrapped his foot maybe a little tighter than she needed to, but Zeb kept his mouth shut.

He also made _sure_ to walk normally out of the medbay, only allowing himself to limp a little once he was well out of sight of Saari’s prying eyes.

Hera had asked Zeb to come find her when he was through in the medbay, so he checked the command center and the _Ghost_ , but no luck. Hera wasn’t in either place.

The next best guess was in the shipyards, so Zeb made his way to the A-wing section, ears up, listening for Hera’s voice.

He didn’t catch Hera, but he did catch some odd sounds coming from behind one of the pilots’ lockers.

“Kriffing krykna,” he muttered, figuring one of them had gotten past the perimeter fence. Pulling his blaster, he rounded the lockers – only to find two of the pilots, ones he didn’t know, with their tongues down each others’ throats.

They were so caught up in each other that neither girl noticed Zeb standing there. He didn’t know whether to make a noise or just to try and sneak off.

He ended up doing neither: the girls’ deep kisses and moans brought up memories of embarrassing – but happy – dreams. The idea of him sneaking back here with Kallus, eking out small portions of the day where they could hide and become completely absorbed in each other like that…

That was a very nice idea.

Zeb’s carefully stepped back around the lockers and leaned against their front, shutting his eyes and imagining the feel of Kallus’s lips again, on his and on other parts of his body. Imagining their mingled scent telling the galaxy they belonged together. Imagining marking him up under his clothes, something to share only with him – and being marked in return.

The insidious thought that Kallus might not ever come back from his mission niggled at the back of his mind, poking holes in his fantasies.

Zeb snarled at that thought. If it killed him, he would make sure Kallus came back.

Whatever it took, it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a bit long, this one was a bit short. It all evens out!


	7. Chapter 7

The _Chimaera_ was unlike any other Star Destroyer Kallus had ever been on.

It had been heavily modified to fit the needs of Grand Admiral Thrawn, from the extra hangar bay to the giant chimaera engraved on its hull. Also adhering to the grand admiral’s reported tastes, there was artwork hung in common areas, such as the commissary, and in some working areas, including the communications department.

It had _personality_. Kallus had never been in an Imperial facility that was anything but bland and identical in every aspect to every other facility in the Empire.

The shuttle from Lothal had brought Kallus and his single trunk of belongings to the Chimaera, where he’d been greeted by a lieutenant of some nebulous department and shown to his quarters.

Kallus hadn’t realized the position of Communications liaison warranted a single room, but he wasn’t going to complain. If the room was free of surveillance, he could function as Fulcrum more easily. Of course, the room probably _was_ bugged, so he’d have to see if he could fix that with his clearance. Easier and safer for the moment to assume everything he said or did was being recorded.

If he were in charge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, he’d surveil his subordinates, too. It was far too easy to be the victim of a backstabbing in Imperial service; no commanding officer could really let their guard down.

After his brief tour of the ship and a few minutes to settle into his quarters, Kallus received a summons to Thrawn’s office.

It wasn’t completely unexpected, though it _was_ unwelcome. Kallus straightened his gray uniform, put his shoulders back, and donned a more Imperial facial expression.

Thrawn’s guard checked his code cylinder before letting Kallus in the office.

There, in the far end of the office, past rooms with closed doors – Thrawn’s quarters, if this part of the ship’s layout was like other Star Destroyers – sat a blue-skinned man in an immaculate white uniform.

Thrawn wasn’t paying Kallus any attention, but Kallus approached at a respectful speed and then stood at attention until the grand admiral noticed him.

“Captain Atticus Calix?” Thrawn asked, voice low and soft, but no less commanding, perhaps a warning of a man more dangerous than the many officers who preferred to shout and bellow commands.

“Sir.” Kallus didn’t move, except to peek at the chiss.

Thrawn looked up, red eyes piercing and bright. “Have we met before, Captain?”

 _Does he know what Alexsandr Kallus looks like? Does he recognize me?_ Kallus managed to control his reaction. “I don’t believe so, sir. I’m certain I would remember that.”

“Hm.” Thrawn looked back at his datapad. Kallus could just barely tell that he had Calix’s file pulled up. Waving his hand dismissively, he added, “At ease, Captain.”

Kallus relaxed a little, at least physically.

“I hear good things about your work from both Governor Pryce and Agent Vornen.” Thrawn rested on his elbows and steepled his fingers. “However, when I look at your record, I see a man who is competent now, but could be excellent with a little effort. I trust you will apply yourself while you are on the _Chimaera_.”

Kallus’s efforts to remain unremarkable were totally wasted, then. Thrawn saw right through them. Hopefully that was all he saw through. “I shall endeavor to do so.”

“Good.” Thrawn glanced up at him again. “You showed a keen eye – or ear – on Lothal when it came to Rebel communications. I want you to compile a daily report for me of any comm that looks like it might have something to do with the Rebels. I want them even if you can’t confirm they’re from Rebels. Deliver it to me personally and I will analyze them myself. Can you do that for me, Captain?”

“Yes, sir. Happily.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Kallus saluted and spun on his heels, leaving as quickly as he could while still being appropriate.

Daily reports for – and daily visits with – Thrawn himself. That was going to make things more difficult.

Kallus feared his time as Fulcrum was fast coming to an end.

For an Imperial Grand Admiral, Thrawn inspired a lot of loyalty among his subordinates. Possibly it was because he didn’t blatantly micromanage, though he still knew everything that went on in his ship.

Well, he knew _most_ things. 

Kallus had managed to set his room’s surveillance on a loop and had successfully rerouted a transmission from a cadet at the Academy on Montross to the Rebels. From the angry messages Governor Pryce sent back to Thrawn, Kallus learned the Rebels had helped two of three defectors escape.

Good for them. Kallus wondered if Zeb had been part of that mission or if the lasat was wisely staying away from Imperial facilities. Knowing Zeb, the answer was most likely not.

Kallus ached to be part of the missions. He’d wanted to be at Skystrike to help the defectors. He’d wanted to be much more hands-on as Fulcrum, but there wasn’t much he could do from his current position. It’d been a while since he’d been able to go to the surface and transmit anything.

That was about to change, however. Captain Calix had earned some leave and was spending it planetside – and Fulcrum had an important message to send.

Kallus carefully eluded the stormtroopers who were not-so-casually trailing him – as they did all officers on leave – and made his way to Bridger’s tower. Running his fingers through the dust on the transmitters, he regretted taking so long between messages. Had the Rebels given up on him? Did they think he betrayed them? Or did they think he’d been captured?

Perhaps his transmission today would prove some goodwill. It certainly was a peace offering, even if the intended recipient might never know.

Flicking on the equipment, Kallus waited for the white Fulcrum symbol to appear in the holo, signifying the connection was established.

“Be advised,” he started. “The Mandalorian Gar Saxon has learned that you have Fenn Rau captive and is planning an assault on the Protectors. If you hurry, you might head off his attack and gain new allies at the same time. Fulcrum out.”

Following the same routine as always, Kallus covered his tracks and returned to Capital City. This time, he wandered through the market, picking out something to cook for dinner. Once he was satisfied, Kallus made his way back to the furnished apartment; one of many kept by the Empire for officers on leave.

To his surprise, he was no longer alone in the apartment when he got back. Agent Vornen was unpacking in the second bedroom.

Kallus immediately went on alert. “Agent! I didn’t expect you here.”

Vornen smiled – an actual, easy smile. For the first time, Kallus saw the familial resemblance to Saari. “I was told to come here, Captain. Hope you don’t mind me intruding on your dinner.”

“If you’re on leave as well, it’s Atticus, not Captain,” Kallus said, mentally doing some calculations. The smile and casual words didn’t put him at ease. “I think I bought enough to feed us both, if you’d like.”

“Arryk, then. And that would be nice. Do you need help in the kitchen?”

Kallus made himself laugh. “Perhaps more than you know. My culinary skills are merely sufficient. A life with the Empire hasn’t given me much chance to develop them.”

“You’re from Coruscant, aren’t you?”

If Vornen was half the ISB agent Kallus had been, he’d had Calix’s file memorized before Calix arrived on Lothal. “I am. And your accent sounds Mid-Rim. Ord Mantell?”

“Very good!” Vornen sounded pleasantly surprised. “From there, I went to the Academy at Carida.”

“Ah, that Academy has quite the reputation for its difficulty. You likely made short work of the classes there, didn’t you?” Kallus began laying out the ingredients for the meal.

Vornen leaned against the wall in the small kitchen, chatting idly with Kallus as he cooked.

If Kallus had still been ISB, he might have taken the young man under his wing; he was so close to being an ideal agent, even off-duty. But ISB-021 was dead and gone – or rather, reassigned – and Kallus found himself on a different side of the war than Arryk Vornen.

For Saari’s sake, he asked gentle questions to feel Vornen out. Nothing too obvious – Kallus didn’t want to bring attention to himself – but enough to realize that Vornen’s devotion to the Empire was genuine.

Much like Kallus’s used to be. It would take a Bahryn to shake Vornen’s faith.

Pulling the entrée out of the oven, Kallus pointed to the vegetables with a knife. “Arryk, do you mind prepping the salad while I plate this?”

The young man pushed off the wall. “Certainly.”

Vornen grabbed a knife from the drawer and Kallus felt a chill run down his back. If Vornen suspected him, this would be an ideal time to attack: when Kallus’s back was turned and his focus was on food. Subtly, Kallus adjusted the grip on his own knife.

He needn’t have worried. Vornen kept up the light conversation while he made a simple salad, with no sign he doubted Kallus at all.

Kallus set the two plates on the small table in the main area of the apartment and sighed. This was going to be a long weekend.

At least he already sent his Fulcrum message. There was no need to shake Vornen except for his own peace of mind. He settled into a chair and plastered another smile on his face as Vornen joined him.

“So how many days leave do you have?” Kallus asked casually.

“Just two,” Vornen said. “I have more saved up, but I’m loathe to use them all at once.”

 _Again this boy is just like I was._ “Admirable.”

“Practical,” Vornen corrected. “I have plenty of work to be done. Even if we haven’t seen the main cell of Rebels for a bit, there are plenty of sympathizers here on Lothal to be rooted out.”

“Are you sure you’re on leave, then?” Kallus asked. “Or are you merely staking out your next targets?”

“Very good,” Vornen said again, laughing. “It’s a bit of both for me, I’m afraid.”

Kallus hummed in response. “Well, if there’s any way I can assist you…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Vornen promised.

Forcing himself to keep breathing steadily, Kallus studied Vornen. There was absolutely no sign that Calix was under suspicion. Their shared quarters were likely nothing more than a coincidence; the Empire stashing two officers together to free up other quarters for enlisted men and troopers.

Kallus was safe. And, with some playacting, he would stay safe throughout the following two days.

Just three weeks later, Kallus was ready for leave again – preferably without his ISB chaperone; not because he was tired, but because he’d intercepted a transmission from Ryder Azadi to the Rebels, asking them to help the Lothal cell figure out what the Empire was doing in the closed-off section of the TIE factory.

 _TIE-Defenders_. That’s what was being built in there. Thrawn had requested Kallus personally submit the initial plans to Coruscant for approval and they would be a game-changer if the Empire started producing them _en masse_. He hadn’t had a chance to send a Fulcrum message about it, though. At least Azadi’s crew had figured out something was going on.

“Captain?” Thrawn asked, getting Kallus’s attention again. “You were saying?”

“My apologies, sir.” Kallus straightened up. “I was explaining we’ve had some minor breaches occurring in comms from the _Chimaera_ to Lothal. I was proposing that you have someone transmit your revised plans from the Complex itself rather than this ship, to ensure security.”

Thrawn nodded slowly. “I’d like you to take care of that personally. ‘To ensure security’,” he repeated. “I’m about to take a shuttle to the factory. You may join me.”

That was very close to the outcome Kallus had hoped for. Thrawn being present was a spanner in the works, but he nodded and excused himself, taking the data tapes containing the new TIE-Defender plans with him. He needed to quickly figure out how to get copies to Azadi right under Thrawn’s nose.

It turned out he didn’t have to. Before he made it to the Complex’s Communications center, the Complex went on lockdown.

Something told Kallus that Rebels were in the Complex itself. If so, they would probably be heading for the sector where the Defenders were being built, so Kallus briskly made his way there as well.

He turned a corner and there were two troopers – a stormtrooper and a scout trooper – arguing while a C1-series droid warbled angrily at them.

 _It can’t be. The Spectres can’t be here._ The C1 droid gave them away, though. It could only be Kanan and Bridger.

They spotted him and froze.

No, that wouldn’t do. Kallus strode forward quickly and motioned to them. “I need extra security at the Communications center. Follow me.”

He led them into a turbolift, stopping it between floors with his code cylinder. “You’re a bit obvious, Rebels.”

Kanan and Bridger tore off their helmets. “You knew it was us?”

Kallus gave Bridger a withering look. “Who else travels with a C1?”

Chopper blatted an _I’m better than those new droids._

“I’m sure you are,” Kallus replied. “But you’re a rare model these days, so my point still stands.”

Kanan turned sightless eyes on Kallus. Last time Kallus had seen Kanan, he was barely functioning. Something had obviously changed since Kallus left the Rebel base. “We thought you were on the _Chimaera_. What are you doing here?”

Patting the data tapes clipped to his belt, Kallus said, “Officially transmitting the designs for the new spacecraft being built in section A-2. You’ll want to take these back with you.”

Bridger held out his hand.

“ _Not_ like this,” Kallus said. “Not unless you want to blow my cover. We’ll have to stage an attack on the Communications Center.”

“That’s good. We actually need to contact the Lothal resistance, but comms are jammed.”

Kallus nodded, even though Kanan couldn’t see him. “I can help with that.”

He started the turbolift up again, thinking. He could send a message back to Zeb with these two, but what would he say? He didn’t even know how Zeb responded to his first message.

Bridger looked at him oddly. “Zeb says hey, by the way.”

Kallus stiffened. Had Bridger read his mind? “Does he?” _Stars, that sounded more eager than I meant it._

The boy broke out into a grin. “Nah. I mean, he would’ve if we’d known we would see you. Let me tell you, he’s been dream–”

“Shush,” said Kallus as the lift door slid open, though he really wanted to hear the rest of Bridger’s sentence. “We’re close to the Center, so you need to stage an attack. I’ll lead you there, but make sure you actually _miss me_ when you shoot.”

They put their helmets back on, stepped out of the turbolift, and then the charade was on. Kallus half-jogged to the Center, dodging blaster fire that came a little too close – then again, a blind man _was_ the one firing at him. He half wished he had a blaster so he could shoot back.

“Rebels!” Kallus cried as he ducked into the Center. The communications officer stood; he didn’t have a blaster, either. The two stormtrooper guards _did,_ however, and started firing on the Jedi.

The next thing he knew, he – and the stormtroopers – had all been slammed back into the consoles as the two Jedi entered, hands extended. Interestingly enough, he was still conscious while the stormtroopers were not. Despite the violence with which he’d been flung backwards, they’d been exacting in their use of the Force, Kallus realized. They hadn’t given him a concussion, which was nice, but hitting the console still hurt.

Kallus couldn’t help the moan that escaped as he rubbed his head. “You could have warned me you were going to do that.”

Bridger shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Biting back a smart comment, Kallus unclipped the tapes from his belt. “Here,” he said. “Your droid can open your comlinks from this port. I’ll provide the access codes.”

Chopper warbled again. _Don’t worry; I’ve got them._

“He doesn’t need them?” Kallus asked, surprised. “He’s quite efficient.”

Bridger was indignant. “Chop! You like _K_ – _him_ more than me? He’s not even part of the crew!”

 _He whines less than you,_ the droid trilled. 

Leaving the two to their argument, Kallus listened in on Kanan’s call to Azadi.

“East gate?” he echoed after Kanan shut off the comlink. “The East Vehicle Pool is your best bet. I’ll stay here and… make this look convincing, unless you’d like to help?”

“Okay,” said Bridger, shoving his hand in Kallus’s direction.

Kallus was _not_ prepared to be slammed back so hard he broke through a glass screen and hit the back console, but that’s what Bridger did to him.

“Ezra!” fussed Kanan.

“What? _That_ is convincing!”

“Yeah, but Zeb will kill you if you hurt him!”

“Serves him right for keeping me awake!” Bridger argued as they headed out. “All those dreams about Kallus? I’m scarred for life!”

Kallus groaned in real pain this time. He’d landed on his back and it was going to be smarting for days, probably.

 _I hate Jedi,_ he thought, but then Bridger’s words filtered through his pain-addled brain. “Dreams?” he whispered. _About me? **Zeb** is dreaming about **me**?_

That thought shouldn’t have caused a chill to run through Kallus’s body, but it did.

“Captain Calix, I read your report. Several troopers confirmed your encounter with the Jedi. It is a shame you lost the design tapes, but it seems you couldn’t have helped that.” Thrawn turned from the graffitied wall section to face Kallus and Governor Pryce. “You know, after analyzing the Rebels’ escape, it’s clear to me they had help from one within our Imperial ranks.”

“The Rebels have a mole?” Pryce seemed shocked at the implication.

 _If you only knew._ Kallus kept his face straight. He was standing at attention, trying not to exacerbate his aching back. The medbay had given him some painkillers, but he hadn’t taken them yet, preferring to wait for bed.

“All personnel must be interrogated!” she insisted angrily. “This spy must be found!”

“Patience, Governor. Acting out of emotion will not serve us here. We must wait and watch.” Thrawn walked towards the front of his office, looking at the projected artwork there. “And when we find our spy – and we will find them – we shall turn them from an obstacle to an asset. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain Calix?”

Kallus felt another chill run through him, this time for a much less pleasant reason. “Your strategy is without flaw, Grand Admiral.” _The fire is getting hot. My time is almost through. I’d better redouble my efforts to transmit information._

“Captain, you’re dismissed. I have political matters to discuss with Governor Pryce.”

“Yes, sir,” Kallus said, inwardly relieved. Quickly, he left the grand admiral’s office and headed to his quarters.

Once there, he laid on the bed, studying the panels of the ceiling. _How much longer do I have to live? Will the Rebels – will **Zeb** – even know what happens to me? Will they care?_

Kallus sighed and dug the painkiller tabs out of his pocket. Swallowing them dry, he closed his eyes, willing his heart to stop pounding long enough for him to fall asleep.

Alexsandr was back at the Rebel base, sitting in Zeb’s wicker chair. Zeb himself sat on the ground facing him, leaning back on his arms. The orange sun was setting slowly behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout Ezra,” Zeb said. “He’s a little overenthusiastic.”

Alexsandr smiled. “It was worth it to hear you hadn’t forgotten me.” He leaned forward. “But you should, Zeb. I’m not going to be around much longer.”

“Karabast. I won’t let that happen. You gotta come back and kiss me properly, like you said.” Zeb grinned wickedly.

“I’ve done that plenty of times in other dreams,” Alexsandr argued. “I imagine I’ll do it in this one, too.”

“Yeah?” Zeb’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m talkin’ real life, mate. Not just you imagining me.”

“Zeb, we both knew being Fulcrum was dangerous. You know what happens to traitors in the Empire.”

“Sure. But I know what Rebels do for other Rebels, too.”

Alexsandr shook his head. “Zeb, I’m not a Rebel.”

“You keep saying that.” Zeb cocked his head. “Are you sure about that, Kal?”

“I’m absolutely certain.” Alexsandr leaned back and closed his eyes against the waning sun for a moment. “I’m not a Rebel and I never will be. Your people would never accept me.”

“Well, _I’m_ absolutely certain you’re one of us, whether you wanna be or not.” Zeb laid down the rest of the way and patted the open ground next to him. “I’m also _certain_ you need to come down here and join me.”

“Oh, I do?” Alexsandr smiled indulgently before doing exactly what Zeb suggested, lying on his side with his head on the lasat’s shoulder. “I think you ought to tell me about these dreams Bridger mentioned.”

Zeb laughed softly. “There’s the good ones, like this. And then there’s the _really_ good ones that end up with us both naked and messy.”

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t already seen me naked,” Alexsandr mused teasingly. “I suppose you _can_ dream about me that way. The messy is new, though.”

“New?” Zeb laughed louder, jostling Alexsandr. “Kal, you know you’ve had the _exact_ same sort of dreams. It ain’t new at all.”

Alexsandr sighed. “I wish this wasn’t just a dream. I wish I was really talking to you.”

Zeb turned his head and kissed Alexsandr’s forehead. “Say the word and I’ll come get ya and we’ll make it all come true.”

“If only I could.” Alexsandr pushed himself up and straddled Zeb. “But I can’t, so this will have to do.”

He leaned down to kiss Zeb, as he did every dream. 

Properly.

Kallus was inspecting some jogan fruit when the vendor suddenly gasped. Behind Kallus, the market hushed.

He turned and looked at the sky. There, where the _Basilisk_ had hung in the sky, was a fireball.

It took Kallus a few seconds to process what must have happened. A thrill rose in his chest. _That’s a proton torpedo explosion. The Rebels must have managed to sabotage the Infiltrator droid – and take out an entire Star Destroyer while doing so!_

Dropping some credits on the vendor’s table, Kallus picked up his purchases and snuck away while everyone was distracted. Heading back to the tower was dangerous, but the Rebels needed to know they’d won big with their gambit.

Kallus set his groceries down in the storage locker he kept his speeder bike in and headed for Bridger’s tower at full speed. He barely waited to catch his breath from the climb before flicking on the equipment.

The Fulcrum symbol floated in front of him. “I can only assume you found and reprogrammed the lost Infiltrator I warned you of. Well, as you no doubt planned, the droid did self-destruct on its return to base.” He smiled, hoping Zeb would be there, listening to the message. “I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you have my congratulations. Fulcrum out.”

Almost as soon as he sent the transmission, his comm beeped.

“Calix,” he said, answering.

“Captain, this is Agent Vornen. All personnel have been called back from leave. Please return to the _Chimaera_ immediately.”

 _Thrawn must be upset._ “Right away, Agent.”

“Oh, and Captain? Grand Admiral Thrawn would like to see you as soon as you’re on board, so please hurry.”

“Of course.” Kallus held his voice steady, but that didn’t stop the flash of fear that shot through him. _Does he know?_

Driven by fear, Kallus rushed through the process of covering his tracks and getting back to the city. Hopping on the first shuttle bound for the _Chimaera_ , he realized he’d left his bag of fruit – the supposed reason for his visit to the surface – in the storage locker. _Kriff. Maybe Thrawn won’t ask about that._

He had no such luck. The first thing Thrawn asked when Kallus arrived at his office was, “How was your shopping trip, Captain?”

Kallus shook his head. “Abandoned when you recalled me, sir.” He waited for Thrawn to say why he’d been summoned, but Thrawn just hummed and looked at the sector map floating above the holo table, as did the other man in the office. 

“Agent Vornen, you were saying?” Thrawn prompted.

“I was saying that I suspect the Rebels captured the unit sent to their world and reprogrammed it to self-destruct upon its return to the fleet.” Vornen frowned as he spoke.

“Quite ingenious, really.”

Kallus blinked, surprised. Thrawn didn’t sound nearly as angry as he’d expected, considering a whole Star Destroyer was lost.

“You don’t seem that upset, sir,” said Vornen cautiously, obviously thinking along the same lines as Kallus.

“The rebels may have protected the location of their base for now, but in doing so, they have narrowed my search.” Thrawn pressed a button and a handful of worlds lit up red. “Before today, they could have been hiding in any of a thousand systems. But now? Now I know they are almost certainly on one of the ninety-four planets surveyed by my Infiltrators. The Rebels have won this battle, but the war will be ours.” 

Kallus eyed the systems, wondering which one the Rebels were in and how long it would take Thrawn to find them. It seemed inevitable that he must.

“Captain Calix?” Thrawn said. “I want the communications equipment from the _Basilisk_ in case the droid connected to the network before it was destroyed. Gather a team for a retrieval in vacuum.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kallus slowly, blinking. A mission into the wreckage? It was better than sitting in the Communications Center, but that was the sort of mission better given to a trooper detachment or to Agent Vornen. Thrawn was placing a lot of trust in Calix’s long-ago Academy training in vacuum.

Once he was dismissed, Kallus went immediately to the stormtrooper leadership and requested a platoon to accompany him.

No sense making the grand admiral wait.

Deep in thought, the shuttle ride to the ruins of the _Basilisk_ went by far too quickly for Kallus’s tastes. How close was Thrawn, really? If only Zeb had told him the name of the planet they were on, Kallus could possibly delay Thrawn’s discovery. He had access to the grand admiral’s office. From there, he could have erased the planet from Thrawn’s directory – _if he knew which one._

The halls of the _Basilisk_ were not empty. Bodies of troopers, officers, and support staff all floated lifelessly, dead from vacuum exposure. Kallus considered sending _his_ troopers ahead to clear the way for them, but he decided that he ought to set the example. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on battlefields after the fighting ended. He knew what casualties looked like, and at least these weren’t bloody.

Kallus used the small, handheld thrusters he carried to maneuver through the halls, through the bodies, and to the _Basilisk_ ’s Communications Center. There, using the knowledge of what the ISB would value and what he had picked up in his time working communications, he instructed the troopers in the gathering of data – what memory cores needed to be brought back, which data tapes to pull, what equipment should be salvaged – and then led the way back to their shuttle.

The Rebels needed to know the fallout from their otherwise successful gambit, Kallus reflected on the ride back. He needed to take another trip down to the surface, soon. Perhaps he could claim his lost groceries as a reason?

No, that wouldn’t work. Thrawn would find that trivial. 

He would have to sneak down on his own.

Kallus’s chance didn’t come until a few days later. He received orders to escort a shipment of _Basilisk_ equipment salvage to the Imperial Complex. The contents were mostly the communications equipment he had brought back, so it made sense that he be the one to deliver the shipment to Pryce.

Dutifully, Kallus saw the equipment into the hands of the Complex quartermaster, then took his leave. As careful as he had ever been, he made sure he wasn’t being tailed and headed out to Bridger’s tower.

The darkness inside the tower seemed a little more disheartening today. Kallus wished he was sending better news, or at least a new mission.

Sighing, he sat down and flicked on the holotransmitter. “This is an urgent message from Fulcrum. Your gambit with the droid worked, but Thrawn is close to finding–”

The Fulcrum symbol turned red. The signal had been lost. Kallus fiddled with the settings on the transmitter, trying to reconnect. The symbol changed back to white, but Kallus didn’t have a chance to continue his message.

“By the light of Lothal’s moons,” said a low, familiar voice. To Kallus’s horror, Thrawn stepped into the tower. “That _is_ your code phrase, isn’t it, Fulcrum? Or would you prefer I address you as Agent Kallus?”

Kallus set his face, refusing to let his shock show. _Thrawn knew who I was this whole time_ , he realized. _He’s been playing me since the day I set foot on the **Chimaera**. How foolish I’ve been not to see it._

 _I’m a dead man now,_ Kallus also realized. _But I’m not going down without a fight._


	8. Chapter 8

The only light in Bridger’s tower room came from the white Fulcrum symbol, glowing as it continued to broadcast.

 _At least the Rebels will know not to expect anything more from me. At least Zeb will know._ The fight in him was yet to go out, however, so Kallus tensed. With a yell, he propelled himself out of the chair and at Thrawn. 

Thrawn blocked his kicks and punches, but Kallus was good at avoiding Thrawn’s. At least, until a blow to the chest knocked him to the ground. While Kallus struggled to his feet, Thrawn stood aside and waited.

“Your technique is good, but limited by your training in the Imperial Academy.”

Kallus frowned. Academy training? Thrawn only knew Kallus’s official file. He didn’t know Kallus had grown up scrapping on the sidewalks and alleyways of Coruscant’s lower levels. There were a few tricks the Academy _hadn’t_ taught him. While Thrawn monologued at him, Kallus grabbed one of Bridger’s stormtrooper helmets and threw it at Thrawn.

The chiss caught it, exactly as Kallus had planned. While Thrawn looked at the helmet, Kallus slid across the floor, knocking Thrawn’s feet out from under him. 

“You talk too much,” Kallus said, before diving back in to fight Thrawn.

They were fairly evenly matched, which didn’t surprise Kallus. While most higher-echelon officers neglected ‘unnecessary’ physical training in favor of bodyguards, Thrawn practiced daily with assassin droids. Kallus had delivered numerous communications summaries while the grand admiral sparred and knew how skilled the man was in combat.

But Kallus was skilled, too, and he used every tactic he knew to try and gain the upper hand.

He had it, for just a moment, but Thrawn landed another kick to his stomach, hard enough to slam Kallus against the railing outside the door.

Out of the corners of his eyes, Kallus saw two Death Troopers approaching from either side. Out here, he could hear the hovering troop carrier on the far side of the tower, probably filled with even more Death Troopers.

The Troopers picked him up by his arms, leaving him dangling between them. Thrawn stepped out of the tower as ever, looking as collected as if they hadn’t just fought tooth and nail. “You have the heart of a Rebel.”

 _He thinks I’m a Rebel? You know what? Kriff it._ “I’ve met the Rebels. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Thrawn frowned and strode back into the tower. Kallus let himself be dragged inside as well. He could fight back, but with Death Troopers around to back Thrawn up, he’d just be asking to be hurt worse.

He _was_ going to be hurt; it was inevitable at that point – and particularly obvious when the Troopers hung him from a rafter with his wrists and ankles in binders.

Thrawn stood and watched as his Troopers beat Kallus. They were precise in their strikes, looking to maximize pain, though they also took the chance to hit Kallus about the head a few times as well. 

Kallus had been trained to resist torture, however, and this was mediocre at best. He spat blood and glared at Thrawn.

“Agent Kallus, I want you – and your Rebel friends – to know, as we begin, that I am fully aware they picked you up from that moon over Geonosis and cared for you. I can see why you might question your loyalties.” Thrawn moved closer to the transmitter, a smile on his face. “I’m also aware of your affection for the lasat. ‘Zeb’, is it? Tales of separated lovers are an art as old as time itself, but I’m afraid this time, there will be no happy reunions.”

Biting his split lip, Kallus said nothing. The pain and the taste of blood gave him something to focus on besides Thrawn’s words – or they should have.

**_How_ ** _can he know about Zeb? He could have inferred that I’ve been with the Rebels because I’ve been sending them information, but Zeb? I’ve never said his name out loud._

Thrawn looked disappointed. “Are you not going to threaten me to stay away from your lover, Agent? I would have expected as much from a man so driven by his… sense of honor,” he sneered

“You have your information wrong, _Grand Admiral_ ,” Kallus said coldly. “I am nothing to the Rebels, any of them.”

“My source tells me something quite different.” Thrawn tapped his fingers on the transmitter. “But now, I need information from you. Information you can and will give me. Tell me where the Rebel base is and I will end this quickly.”

 _Source? Thrawn has a spy in the rebel camp. That’s the only answer._ Anger built up inside Kallus. _Someone in that base is putting Zeb in danger. Someone who knew what we were to each other. Someone who is going to die._

“You think they let me know where they were? The Rebels are smarter than you give them credit for.” Kallus watched the glowing Fulcrum symbol, knowing that his words were being sent across space. 

Knowing that Thrawn could track the trajectory of the signal and probably locate the Rebel base that way. Knowing his technicians were likely doing those very calculations as they spoke.

“I don’t know and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did,” Kallus continued, trying to keep his voice steady. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness around Thrawn; the chiss would strike at any chance.

Thrawn was quiet for a moment. “I believe you,” he said simply and motioned the Death Troopers forward.

Kallus’s eyes widened. That wasn’t how interrogations went.

_But this isn’t an interrogation, is it? Thrawn can get the information without my help. He’s just putting on a show now._

“Break him,” Thrawn instructed the Troopers. “Agent Kallus has only a little usefulness left, but we will wring it out of him nonetheless. Use any means necessary. When you are finished, _if_ he is still alive, bring him to me.”

The Troopers approached, pulling out vibroblades and stun prods and other tools of the trade as they did so.

Kallus braced himself.

Pained cries and whimpers filled the command center on Atollon. One by one, the Rebel leaders covered their eyes or turned away, each and every one of them reluctant to keep listening.

Everyone except Zeb. He gripped the edge of the table, staring at the Fulcrum symbol, listening to every single sound as if his life depended on it. 

As far as he was concerned, it did.

Hera turned off the transmission. “I think we’d better assume Thrawn is on his way here.” She turned to one of the communications officers. “All ships, battle stations! Evacuate all ground staff. We’re getting out of here!”

The officer nodded. Activating the base-wide speakers, he said “All personnel, code K-one-zero. Evacuate immediately. Repeat, evacuate immediately.”

The holo of Commander Sato, on his command ship _Phoenix Nest_ , turned away. “Phoenix Fleet,” he instructed his staff, “deploy defense formation Aurek-one.”

“Someone alert General Dodonna that we’re coming his way,” Hera instructed. “Kanan, Sabine, Ezra, Zeb, let’s go!”

Zeb didn’t move. _Kal…_

“Zeb!” Hera repeated.

“Give me that transmission recording,” Zeb said quietly.

Hera crossed her arms. “We don’t have time for this, but why?”

“Somebody needs to listen to the whole thing to see if he’s dead.” Zeb spoke blankly, trying not to think about his words.

Softening, Hera stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Zeb, that doesn’t have to be you.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted.

Hera watched him for a moment, then nodded at the communications officer. “Give him the recording.” She patted Zeb’s arm, somehow making the motion reassuring rather than patronizing. “You can listen once we hit hyperspace. I need you to help me out here now, though.”

Zeb nodded. He’d rather sit and listen now, but Hera was right, as usual. He needed to get things ready for evacuation.

“Sabine!” Hera called. 

The young woman turned back, jogging up to Hera. “What’s up?”

“Whatever we can’t fit on ships, I want you to blow,” Hera said. “I don’t want there to be anything left the Empire can use. And also, get the shield deflector core. We may still be able to use that.”

“I can do that,” Sabine said. “Zeb, help me with the core?”

“Right behind you,” Zeb said. He pointed at the communications officer. “I’ll be back for that recording.”

As Zeb and Sabine unhooked the shield deflector core from the machine itself, the first transport ships began taking off, carrying with them non-essential personnel. Soon, only a skeleton crew would be left behind, mostly snubfighter pilots and crews like the Spectres, as well as a few droids.

Each time a transport made it to hyperspace, it was announced over the loudspeakers and cheers went up.

Well, cheers went up from most people. Zeb kept his head down and helped load things onto ships as quickly as he could, aiming for munitions and foodstuffs first. His current truce with AP-5 was a benefit, as the droid pointed the Spectres to the most important crates first.

Soon, the _Ghost_ was nearly full of cargo, with only a small path kept clear to navigate through the hold, and other freighters were filled up, too.

They’d gotten everything and everyone they were going to get.

“She’s all yours, Sabine,” Hera said.

Sabine grinned and ran back into the base, placing charges.

Zeb looked around for the communications officer. He needed that tape. He needed to know what had happened to Kallus.

Part of his aching heart was already preparing to learn of Kallus’s death. It was the most logical outcome; the Empire didn’t let traitors live. His head and heart withered as Zeb prepared to listen for his– for Kallus’s death.

But there was still hope, at least for now. Kallus might still be alive.

Kanan came walking up, calm amidst the low-level panic filling the shipyard. “Here,” he said, holding out a datatape. “The broadcast finally finished. No one’s listened yet, though.”

“Thank you,” Zeb said, staring at the tape.

Kanan put a hand on Zeb’s shoulder and squeezed. “Whatever happened to him, we’re here,” he reminded Zeb.

Zeb nodded again, unable to find the right words.

Sabine jogged back to the _Ghost_ , a grin on her face. “She’s ready to blow. I can trigger it from atmosphere.”

“Well then,” said Hera. “We’d better get going.” She yelled instructions to the crew of the next ship over, who passed them on down the line until every ship – freighters with and without weapons systems and snubfighters – was ready to take off.

“I’m watching from the _Phantom II_ ,” Sabine said as they climbed out of the hold. “I wanna see my work.”

She split off from the group and Zeb started to go to his bunk, but Hera stopped him. “Zeb, I need you and Rex manning the guns just in case.”

Zeb clambered down into the nose turret, putting on the headset that let him talk to the others. “Ready to go, Hera,” he said.

“That’s good,” she said, stress in her voice as the _Ghost_ lifted off the ground. “Because we just got Star Destroyers coming out of hyperspace.”

“Karabast,” Zeb muttered. “The transports?”

“All away,” she said.

There was that, at least.

“I’m blowing it!” Sabine warned just before they hit the clouds. There was a loud rumble behind them and she crowed in delight. “That was my best one yet!”

A few moments later, as they breached atmosphere, Hera came back on the comms. “Bad news. The Imperials brought Interdictors. We’re stuck.”

Zeb looked out and saw Hera was right. There, among the many Star Destroyers arrayed against them, were two large Destroyers with the characteristic gravity well projectors.

“ _Karabast_.”

Kallus wasn’t dead, not yet.

It might have been preferable to his current situation, being held down on his knees by Death Troopers on the bridge of the _Chimaera_ while Thrawn explained his grand plan to trap the Rebels on Atollon and destroy their leadership.

 _Force_ , he was tired of listening to Thrawn talk.

The Death Troopers had worked him over rather thoroughly in the tower, and Kallus knew he was bloodied, with dislocated joints, and halfway delirious from the continued pain. Thrawn had administered a stimulant cocktail to keep him awake and aware for the coming battle; it was barely working. 

Kallus could only guess that Thrawn wanted him to watch the Rebels lose. To watch _his people_ lose.

The joke was on Thrawn. The only Rebels who he cared about were the Spectres, and he’d put his money on them over the Empire any day. After all, they’d eluded _him_ for years and he’d dedicated himself to the _Ghost_ ’s destruction. They were merely pests to Thrawn; he didn’t give them proper consideration, and Kallus was confident it would lead to Thrawn’s undoing.

The _Chimaera_ dropped out of hyperspace to find a battle ongoing: four Star Destroyers and two Interdictors firing on the ragtag Rebel battle group.

Turbolasers flashed across the viewport, shields flickered as they took a pummeling, and dogfighting TIEs and A-wings zoomed past. It was hard for Kallus to keep track of everything, so he focused on the capital ships.

Kallus recognized the _Liberator_ , the ship he’d been held on for three months. Idly, he wondered if Fenn Rau was still in his cell.

He focused on the _Liberator_ for some amount of time; he couldn’t really be sure how long with the drugs in his system. Suddenly, there, shooting across the bow of the _Chimaera_ , he saw the _Ghost_.

It was just an illusion, he was sure, but he thought he saw a splash of purple in the ship’s nose turret.

_Zeb. The **Ghost**. The Spectres. They’re still alive._

With a glance back at Kallus, Thrawn ordered a squadron of TIEs to pursue the _Ghost_.

“Disable, if you can,” he drawled. “I want the crew brought aboard, particularly the lasat.”

If the tiniest hint of a change in Thrawn’s posture was any indication, Kallus suspected the grand admiral was gloating. The apparent victory, however, was short-lived.

Suddenly, Thrawn’s body stiffened. “Konstantine!” he said angrily. “Return to your assigned coordinates immediately.”

Kallus focused past the bow of the _Chimaera_ and saw a cruiser-carrier, one he recalled the Rebels commandeering some time before, moving out in front of the Rebel fleet. He thought, maybe, he could see escape pods flying out from it.

Involuntarily, he thought about the last escape pod he’d been in: the one that took him and Zeb to Bahryn. If he’d never gotten in that escape pod, would he be on the bridge as an ISB agent instead of a prisoner?

“ _I’ve had enough of your games, Grand Admiral._ ” Admiral Konstantine’s voice was tight and irritated.

From the starboard side of the formation, an Interdictor moved forward, towards the Rebel carrier. 

Something was about to happen, Kallus knew, but he hadn’t predicted that the Rebels would sacrifice their carrier like that. 

But they did. At the last second, the carrier turned and rammed into Konstantine’s Interdictor with enough speed to completely destroy both ships.

A few of the Rebel ships took advantage of the loss and disappeared into hyperspace.

Not the _Ghost_ , though. It was still dodging TIEs, though A-wings followed behind, picking off the Imperial ships.

_Good. Keep flying like that, Hera. Show Thrawn how wrong he really is._

The _Ghost_ disappeared from view; Kallus went back to watching Thrawn. The grand admiral was obviously infuriated; Konstantine had ruined his carefully-constructed tactics.

“Sir, six Rebel ships escaped the blockade,” a young lieutenant told Thrawn.

Thrawn sighed. “Konstantine was careless. Remind all ships to stay in position until ordered otherwise.”

Kallus laughed. “Can’t keep control of your fleet, _Grand Admiral_?” His voice was rough and raw; they’d forced some screams from him earlier, to his shame.

Thrawn met Kallus’s eyes, but said nothing.

“Sir!” called another bridge officer. “A Rebel ship has just… _landed_ on the _Resolution_.”

The _Resolution_ was the other Interdictor. Kallus tried to think what gambit the Rebels were playing at, but he’d long since learned to expect ingenuity from them. Thrawn was learning it the hard way, just as Agent Kallus had.

“Report,” said Thrawn. “What is happening?”

“It’s– It’s the _Ghost_ , sir. The _Resolution_ isn’t reporting on what they’re doing.”

 _Laying a trap of some sort,_ Kallus thought. _That Interdictor is about to die._

“The _Ghost_ is taking off, sir. The _Resolution_ reports some sort of energy pulse on their hull.”

Kallus watched as the _Resolution_ exploded in a brightly-colored fireball. The remaining Rebel ships – including the _Ghost_ – launched into hyperspace. He laughed again.

Seething, Thrawn spun to face him. “Lock him in the brig,” he instructed the Death Troopers. “When we return to Lothal, take him to the Imperial Complex and put him in a cold cell. One where he will be forgotten.”

The Troopers dragged Kallus to his feet and he stumbled along with them. _Curse these drugs Thrawn gave me. If I had a clearer head, I could take them both out. As it is, if I try, they’ll just try to hurt me more. My best bet is to lay low until I’m in better shape. **If** that ever happens._

 _At least I know the_ Ghost _got away. Zeb is safe. I’ve done my job. I can rest now._

Sabine and Ezra congratulated themselves on a job well done – Sabine had rigged the shield deflector core to blow and Ezra had floated it out of the hold and onto the Interdictor’s hull – but Zeb could only muster half-hearted congratulations.

Oh, he was exhilarated that they’d picked up all the escape pods, made it to hyperspace, and were safely away from Thrawn’s fleet. 

But they’d lost a lot in the effort.

And it was possible Zeb had lost a lot more.

He took the data tape and hid in his bunk, starting it from the beginning. Kallus’s interrupted warning, the obvious scuffle with Thrawn, and then: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Was Kallus finally owning up to being a Rebel? Just in time to be tortured?

Because that’s what came next on the tape.

Zeb had heard Kallus cry out in pain before. 

On Bahryn, first, when things started to get muddy. Kallus trying to walk, Zeb tossing him around the cave to keep him from the bird-lizard-things, the cold biting into his skin painfully.

And then Kallus had screamed and whimpered and cried out there in Zeb’s bunk, as he came back to life.

That pain, however bad it was, had been productive. It had a purpose: to keep Kallus safe.

 _This_ pain, the pain Zeb was hearing on the tape, was not. Whoever was torturing Kallus was doing it solely to hurt him. To _break_ him.

The thought stirred anger deep inside Zeb. No one had the right to hurt another being like that. No one had the right to hurt _Kallus_ when Zeb needed him to return to the Rebellion.

They had unfinished business to attend to.

 _If_ Kallus had survived the torture, that was.

Kallus began the torture by suffering quietly, making a few smart remarks to his captors. Then the whimpers started, after the sound of tearing fabric or the thud of something hard against flesh. Then the weak cries.

By the end of it, Kallus screamed and the sound filled Zeb with rage. Had they broken him? Would there be enough pieces of him left for Zeb to be able to put back together?

Zeb couldn’t tell from the tape. But he _could_ tell that Kallus was alive, or had been at the end of the recording. The torturers, whoever they were, discussed that fact before turning off the transmission.

“ _Grand Admiral Thrawn wants him on the **Chimaera**. Dunno why._”

“ _What’ll they do with him after that?_ ” Kallus moaned; someone must have touched him. ” _He’s not good for much anymore._ ”

“ _I heard the grand admiral say something about keeping him in the Complex here._ ”

So Kallus had been on the _Chimaera_ , probably. Zeb was glad they’d blown the Interdictor instead of the command ship. If Sabine had had another deflector core, they might have done both.

But they hadn’t. Kallus was probably alive, probably headed back to Lothal.

 _Where they were going to put him in the Complex_.

Zeb burst out of his bunk and into the cockpit. “Hera, we have to go to Lothal. Kal is alive and that’s where he is.”

Hera turned in her chair to look at him. “Zeb, we can’t do anything for him right now. We have to regroup and recover before we can launch an offensive on Lothal.”

“We don’t need an offensive,” Zeb argued. “We just need a small team to get into the Imperial Complex and break him out.”

“Buddy,” said Kanan, holding a hand up to slow Zeb down. “The Imperial Complex? That’ll take some planning.”

Hera shook her head. “Besides, you heard what Thrawn said on that recording. He has an informant in our cell. We have to have a spy – _he knew your name, Zeb._ You’re my head of security; I need you to find them.”

She was right. Deep down, the Honor Guard Captain in him knew it, the Rebel Captain knew it, Garazeb Orrelios knew it. Wisdom would be to gather allies and plan before launching a strike on Lothal. Possibly even combine it with Ezra’s plan to break the planet out from under the Empire’s thumb.

But Zeb. Zeb who’d barely kissed Kallus and wanted more, who dreamed of him at night, who ached to hold him and nurse him back to health again… 

That Zeb was _pissed_.

“Karabast,” he muttered. “When I find out who it was, I’m gonna crush their head.”

“Or we’ll put them in prison,” Hera suggested. 

“After I crush their head.”

“Zeb, I need you to start thinking, please.” Hera caught his eye. “ _Think_. Thrawn didn’t know where we were until after he caught Kallus. That means our spy is support staff, not an officer. Who among our support staff knew about you and Kallus?”

“I don’t know who Ezra went blabbing to,” Zeb grumbled.

“We’ll ask Ezra too,” Kanan said patiently. “But did you ever talk to anyone about him?”

There was only one person. “The medic,” Zeb said. “Saari. She encouraged it. But she also said she heard about it from base rumors, so anyone could have told her.”

Hera and Kanan looked at each other. “I’d hate to think it’s Saari, but I think we need to talk to her once we get to Yavin IV. Maybe she can give us a name. I’ll radio ahead and get someone to pull her aside before she gets off her transport.”

Zeb growled a little, low and quiet. “If it was her…”

“Yeah, we know, big guy. Crushed head.”

Zeb didn’t laugh at Kanan’s attempt at a joke.

 _Nothing_ about this situation was funny.

It took a lot to break a man like Alexsandr Kallus, or it would have before Bahryn. 

Pain – especially pain he had time to brace for, as with torture – wasn’t the way to do it, no matter how much fun the Death Troopers seemed to have.

Drugs brought him closer to the edge, but they were temporary and could be resisted.

Cold air, however, was his weak spot. Being thrown into a cell with the life support systems set to excessively low temperatures sent his mind into a panic as surely as if Thrawn had dropped him back off on Bahryn.

The worst part was the inconsistency. Sometimes, the vents would blow cold air all day. Sometimes, just for an hour. 

Kallus never knew when it was coming, never had any warning. Trying to stay alert at all times was exhausting, as Thrawn no doubt intended. 

Every day, Kallus paced the small cell, barely big enough to stretch out in, smaller even than the Rebels’ brig, trying to stay awake and mentally prepared to face whatever Thrawn had in store for him, whether it was more questioning – “Where are the Rebels going, Kallus?” – or simply the freezing air. He paced until his head spun and he _had_ to lie down and sleep.

He didn’t like sleep. He didn’t like to be that vulnerable with Thrawn and Pryce around. Thrawn might use torture as a tool, but Pryce _enjoyed_ it and she was in charge of the facility he was being kept in.

A week in – or so he thought thanks to the growth of his beard; it was hard to keep track of time when meals were irregular and lights stayed on all the time – he had a visitor. An actual visitor, not a jailer or a Death Trooper.

Kallus stopped his pacing when the door to his cell opened, turning to stand with his back against the wall, just in case he needed to brace against something to protect himself.

Agent Vornen walked in, alone.

Even in the state he found himself, Kallus thought he could take him. But could he do that before the troopers standing guard stunned him or worse?

Probably not. Kallus stayed against the wall, watching every move Vornen made.

The agent sat down next to Kallus’s bedroll, a barely-there padding and a thin blanket, and smiled.

“How are you enjoying your accommodations, Kallus?”

 _Ah. It’s going to be that sort of conversation._ “Having been a prisoner now for both the Empire and the Rebellion,” Kallus bit out, “I have to say I won’t be leaving the Empire a glowing review on the HoloNet.”

“Oh? Would you prefer to go to a penal colony and be in general population? I’m sure we can find somewhere where you’ll already know plenty of the inmates.”

 _In other words, prisoners **I** put there._ “I am at your mercy.” The words were bitter, but no less true.

Vornen leaned back against the wall, looking casual. “You know, you would have been a much better spy if you hadn’t overlooked one tiny detail”

“Oh?”

“We have our _own_ spy in your camp.”

 _Not **my** camp. _ “I assumed as much when Thrawn knew about Zeb. Who is it?”

Vornen looked smugly satisfied. Kallus ached to wipe that grin off his face. “Take a guess,” the agent said.

Kallus had already thought about it, for quite a while. “Your cousin. Is the Empire holding your death over her head?”

Vornen ignored Kallus’s second remark, making Kallus think he hit home. “You Rebels are far too trusting. Why would you let in and trust someone with family actively serving the Empire?”

 _Because the Rebels believe in being your own person._ “I’m not a Rebel,” Kallus insisted. He was getting tired of having to argue the point, but people kept calling him a Rebel.

“You’re not a Rebel,” Vornen mused. “And you’re not an Imperial anymore. What are you, Alexsandr Kallus?”

“I’m nobody anymore,” he said with practiced ease, just as he’d told Ahsoka months ago. _I am Alexsandr Kallus, more principled than you will ever be, Arryk Vornen. I may only have a lasat and his crew for friends, but I have never betrayed them._

_And I never will._

“You’re a highly skilled actor,” Kallus told Vornen. “I will admit, you had me convinced I wasn’t truly under suspicion.”

“There’s a reason Thrawn brought me in,” Vornen said.

“Well, it wasn’t for your talents catching actual Rebels,” Kallus said, eyes narrowed. “The Phoenix Cell is still out there, alive, despite your best efforts.”

“The Phoenix Cell is Thrawn’s concern. I’m here for disloyalty among the citizens and troops, or have you forgotten the ISB mandate?”

“Believe me, I will never forget that,” Kallus said. “So what am I? Your trophy catch? Are you hoping to move into my old rank?”

Vornen said nothing, which said everything to Kallus.

He laughed. “Arryk, the Hutts will leave Tatooine before you rank anywhere near ISB-021. I know what it took to get there and I don’t believe you have the stomach.”

It was a lie; Vornen was just as hungry for advancement as Kallus had been at his age, but if Kallus could shake him, in any way…

Well, that would be a victory for the Rebellion.

“Do you know how many colleagues I had to backstab? How much legwork I, personally, put in to finding defectors, traitors, and disloyalty – sometimes where it didn’t even exist?” Kallus leaned forward now, off the wall, speaking slowly and precisely. “I sacrificed _all_ relationships, familial and friendly, Arryk.”

Vornen’s mask started to falter, just the tiniest bit. Kallus had his opening.

“Are you ready for your cousin to return from her spying?” he asked, picking away at the chips of Vornen’s defenses. “If the Rebels haven’t found and killed her already, then the Empire will wring her dry of information and _then_ kill her. Doesn’t matter how; they might dump her on the moon where I was, to freeze to death, or they might show mercy and use a blaster. The end result is that she’ll be dead and _it will be all your fault for recruiting her._ ”

Anger erupted on Vornen’s face and he struck out, catching Kallus upside the head and sending him to his knees. Kallus smiled anyway. He’d broken through.

“You’re wrong, Kallus,” Vornen said. “You’re wrong about the Empire and you’re wrong about yourself. You’ve turned into more of a Rebel than any I’ve chased down before.”

“Are you sure everyone you’ve chased down has _been_ a Rebel? Or did they merely tell you they were?”

Vornen stood. “I will not stay here and listen to your treasonous talk.”

Kallus shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to visit me,” he pointed out. “You’re the one labelling me a Rebel. Perhaps you should be _asking_ me why I left the Empire instead of _reminding_ me why I left the Empire.”

In a huff, Vornen left.

Alone once more, Kallus allowed himself a smile. It’d been a small, petty victory, making Vornen falter, but it _was_ a victory.

He closed his eyes and wished, not for the first time, that he were still imprisoned with the Rebels. At least there, he’d had Fenn Rau and those damn holonovels for entertainment.

At least there, he’d had Zeb, even if neither of them had been willing to make a move.

A click sounded above him and cold air shot out of the vents, chilling the room immediately.

Kallus quickly took up his usual position: huddled on the bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders for whatever warmth it would provide. The thin material almost seemed to draw heat away from him, but it was the best he had.

He’d poked the beast that was the Empire and now he was going to pay for it.

Cold flowed into the room, insidiously sapping the heat from Kallus’s skin. His fingers and toes began to ache; he knew other parts would shortly join them. 

Kallus closed his eyes and bunched himself up as small as he could get. _I will survive this. I will survive whatever the Empire throws at me right up until the point they shoot me. I will not let them win first. I will **not** let them win!_

“Zeb, calm down.”

Zeb did not calm down. He kept pacing, wearing a track into the floor outside of the Massassi Temple War Room.

“Zeb,” Sabine repeated. “You’ve done everything you can. You’ve made your case. Ezra and Hera are in there backing you up.”

“Ezra wants all of Lothal. They might not go for such a big operation. I just want to rescue Kal.” Zeb looked at Sabine, still feeling that anger deep in his chest. 

Not anger at Sabine, of course, but at the galaxy, at the Empire, at the leaders of the Rebellion who didn’t think it was prudent to attack an Imperial facility for just one man. Anger at the passage of time; it’d been a month since they arrived on Yavin IV and Zeb had nothing to show for it.

Sabine did. She’d taken Kanan, Ezra, and Fenn Rau’s Protectors to help with the civil war on Mandalore. It’d been a successful mission and Zeb had been glad to see Sabine return with Kanan and Ezra – he hadn’t been sure she would.

Still, her success only cheered him so much. “If they say no…”

“Then you’ll attack the place on your own, I know,” Sabine said. “But you _won’t_ be alone. We’ll go with you. We’ve got each others’ backs.”

Zeb believed that, he really did, but he knew they needed more than just the Spectres to be in on any mission they took to save Kallus.

The doors opened and Zeb focused on the people coming out.

Ezra looked devastated and Hera gave Zeb a small, quick shake of the head.

Zeb deflated. The Rebellion’s leadership had said no.

They’d decided to sacrifice Kallus, who’d given so much for them in the past eight months. Zeb held in the growl he really wanted to let loose. That could wait until later.

First, he put a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “Kid, you okay?”

Ezra shrugged. “They said they can’t commit to a full assault on Lothal, that anything we did would be a waste of resources the Rebellion can’t afford to lose.”

Despite his anger, Zeb pulled Ezra into a hug. He knew how much freeing Lothal meant to the kid.

About as much as freeing Kallus meant to Zeb.

Hera herded them all over to a quiet corner. “Look,” she said, “Leadership said no, but they gave me the rank of general for a reason. I’m going to show everyone the reason I have that authority and gather us some allies. Sabine?”

Sabine nodded. “I bet we can get Fenn Rau, at least, if not more from the Protectors and Clan Wren.”

“Good. Then we’ve got Gregor and Wolffe. Ezra can call in favors from Hondo. Some of my pilots will go. Anyone else we can think of?”

“Ketsu,” Sabine said. “I can get her.”

“Right. That’s not a bad assault group.” Hera smiled at Ezra and Zeb. “We’ll get this done on our own if the Rebellion won’t back us. We’ve faced these sorts of odds before.”

Zeb nodded. He shouldn’t have doubted that Hera would still be willing to do something.

Still, he’d feel better if they were going to Lothal with a fleet instead of just the _Ghost_ and a handful of other ships.

Hera crossed her arms. “Okay, go get on the holocomms. Start talking people up. Let’s get this moving before we get caught.”

The Spectres scattered. Zeb didn’t have anyone to call in, so he went to get some questions answered.

Nodding at the guards outside the small Massassi Group prison, he went inside and grabbed a chair.

There was only one occupant.

“Why?” Zeb asked, sitting outside the ray shield keeping Saari in her cell. His question was more demanding than plaintive.

Saari had always been so cheerful, but the look she gave Zeb was decidedly not. “It was this or my family dies. And since you figured me out, my family is dead.”

“Saari, if you’d told someone, we could have gotten your family out,” Zeb said.

“Could you?” she asked. “Could you really?”

Zeb wanted to point out that Phoenix Cell had continually helped relocate the families of Force-sensitive children, but Saari knew that already.

Had she passed on their locations? Zeb had never thought to ask about the families again after they resettled them, but maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have been more suspicious, but he’d really thought Chopper Base had been safe. It had never crossed his mind to think the friendly medic who encouraged him to go after Kallus might have been an Imp spy.

Zeb glared at her. “Just so you know, I’m getting him out.”

She huffed. “Good luck with that. He’s probably already dead and if he’s not, it’s a trap.”

“It’s a trap,” Zeb agreed. “But we’re good at springing traps and getting away.”

“What happens if he’s already dead?”

Zeb growled a little, baring teeth. “Then not even the prison guards will stop me from getting to you.”

She gulped and leaned back.

He stood, feeling a little better after intimidating Saari. It was time to go make preparations for an unsanctioned mission.


	9. Chapter 9

The _Ghost_ stayed behind, left hidden at a safe haven, a victim of its own notoriety. Instead, the Spectres and their friends travelled to Lothal on an Imperial shuttle brought by Ketsu.

No one questioned how she’d gotten it – or the codes that allowed them through the blockade.

They landed outside Ryder Azadi’s little settlement of Rebels. Zeb nodded to Ryder, but didn’t recognize any of his gathered resistance fighters. General greetings were exchanged, but the terse words betrayed how the planned mission was eating at the group of allies.

Zeb hadn’t been to Lothal in over a year and it looked like things had significantly changed: new faces, new hideout, new ways of harassing the Imperials. No matter the changes, though, the goal remained the same: to defeat the Empire.

“Glad you all made it,” Ryder said, ushering them into a makeshift building. Everyone crowded around the table: the Spectres, the clones, two of Hera’s pilots, Fenn Rau, Ketsu Onyo, Hondo Ohnaka and Ohnaka’s ugnaught friend Melch.

Fifteen beings. Fifteen beings to try and take down an Empire.

“Got a surprise for you,” Ryder continued, and his people walked in an Imperial prisoner in a black uniform. “This is Lieutenant Lyste. He stumbled into one of our traps and he’s generously decided to give us the access codes to get our ships into the Complex.”

“How do we know they’re the _right_ codes?” asked Rex.

“Because the lieutenant is coming with us. If we get shot down, he gets shot down.” Ryder smiled. “And he’d like to live.”

“The Empire will rescue me!” Lyste protested. “I’m an officer!”

“Yeah?” asked Zeb, a bit of growl in his voice. “Didja see how well relying on a rescue worked out for Kallus?”

Lyste shut up, looking terrified. Zeb wasn’t sure if it was of him, of the Rebels, or everything in general, but he approved.

“Okay, so we’ve got an in,” said Ezra, stepping forward. “Do we have the layout of the Complex so we can work out our plan?”

“Got that, too,” Ryder said. He hit a button on the central table and a holo mockup of the Complex appeared. A room lit up. “Here’s the Control Center – that’s where your main group will need to go. And here–” another room lit up, deeper in the facility “–are the prison cells. If your guy isn’t there, he’d be up here–” a third location blinked red “–in Pryce’s offices. That’s where her ‘interrogation’ setup is.”

“Great,” said Ezra. “Okay, Team A is gonna try to find Kallus and get him out. That’s you, Zeb, Rau, Kanan, and Hera. Team B is Wollfe, Mart, Wedge; you three stay here in reserve. Everyone else is Team C – we’re gonna take control of the Complex.”

Ryder looked surprised. “You sure you can do that with just eight people?”

Ezra nodded, looking around the table. “I’m feeling pretty good about our chances.”

“You sure you won’t stay behind?” Rau asked. “You’re going to stick out.”

Zeb shook his head. “No,” he said simply, glaring at Rau. “I’m going.”

Rau shrugged. “All right. You’ll make us all targets, but if you’ve got to see Kallus before any of the rest of us…”

“Rau,” Zeb growled. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re a good warrior. But shut the kriff up.”

Laughing, Rau went back to loading up power packs for his blasters. 

Zeb was a little impressed at just how many weapons Rau fit in his beskar armor. Even he wasn’t carrying quite that much and Zeb’s utility belt was filled the whole way around. 

He slung his bo-rifle over his shoulder, crossed his arms, and surveyed the staging area. They had the troop carrier Hera had brought everyone in on and two smaller shuttles. Theoretically, those were all they needed.

Zeb hoped everything would go according to Ezra’s plan. _He_ needed this win.

Kanan waved Zeb over. “Buddy, are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Zeb huffed. “Why does everyone think me going on this mission is a bad idea? It’s rescuing Kal. Yeah, Kanan, I can do this.”

“I’m not asking because I don’t think you _can_ ,” Kanan pointed out. “I’m just saying if it were Hera in there, for her sake I know I would be willing to do something stupid. I don’t want you to do that. I want you to walk out of there with us, whether we have Kallus or not.”

“We’re gonna get him,” Zeb said, as much for himself as for Kanan. “We’re gonna get him out of there.”

“I know he’s special to you, but Zeb…” Kanan reached up and placed a hand on Zeb’s shoulder. “You’re important to us, too. This family needs you. Don’t lose sight of that.”

 _None of them really think Kal is gonna make it out, do they?_ Zeb realized. _They think he’s dead and this is a revenge-slash-suicide mission on my part._

_They think I’ll want to die if Kal is dead. I won’t. I’ll want to tear down the entire Complex, piece by piece, and force-feed it to Thrawn until **he** dies._

“Mate, I dunno what you think I’m thinkin’, but I’m not plannin’ to die in there,” Zeb grumbled.

Kanan nodded. “Good. None of the rest of us are, either.”

Zeb returned the nod. He knew Kanan would do whatever it took to get Kallus out safely; not for Kallus’s sake, but for _Zeb’s_ , and Zeb couldn’t ask anything more of his best friend.

Hera waved from one of the shuttles. “Guys! Time to go!”

Zeb ambled over, steeling himself for the battle. He knew he had a lot of rage inside; it had festered there ever since hearing Thrawn hurt Kallus a month before and only got worse every time he’d listened to that tape. 

He’d listened to that tape a lot.

He also knew that while he would enjoy taking that rage out on the stormtroopers inside – and anyone else who got in his way – he couldn’t let it control him. 

So Zeb reined in that anger and found a too-small seat in the shuttle, sitting across from Rau and Kanan.

“Okay, guys,” Hera said. “I’m gonna drop you off and wait in the shuttle. Make it quick before they send someone to check it out.”

The troop carrier took off before them, one shuttle tucked in behind it, and the third staying behind as insurance. As they neared the Complex, Chopper, on the troop carrier, transmitted the codes Lyste gave them.

They were good, or appeared to be. The two ships split off – the carrier for the main bay, the shuttle for the north entrance, closest to the prison.

Before the three men left the shuttle, Hera called Kanan to her. Zeb watched as she whispered into Kanan’s ear and squeezed his hand. Zeb smiled as he turned away, ignoring the pang in his heart. He might be hurting, but it was nice to see others happy, especially ones who deserved it.

 _How did I end up here?_ Zeb wondered. _About to risk my life for a man who used to be Agent Kallus and who’s become Kal, rescuing him from the Empire he used to serve. Who I want to kiss and who wants to kiss me back. Who might be dead or dying and I won’t know until I get in there – where a trap is most certainly waiting._

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he ran, full-speed, at the four stormtroopers guarding the door. Rau ran next to him and without speaking, they split: Rau to the left, Zeb to the right. 

Zeb reached out as he ran and grabbed the heads of the two closest stormtroopers, slamming them together with enough force to crack the armor. Both troopers slumped to the ground.

Zeb grinned. That felt good. 

Beside him, the two other stormtroopers fell, victims of Rau’s precise blaster strikes.

Kanan ran up behind him and used the Force to shove the doors open just enough that Zeb could squeeze in there and hold them. Kanan and Rau climbed through the opening and Zeb jumped out of the doors, into the building.

Leading the way, Kanan used the Force to clear some pathways for them, convincing some patrolling troopers they needed to go the other direction and otherwise making distractions as necessary. 

It took them a good ten minutes to make it all the way to the prison. 

Just before they moved into the secured wing, Kanan checked in with Sabine; the Command Center group was in the middle of a fight to control the room.

“We’d better hurry,” Rau said. “They’re going to want to blow this thing as soon as they can get it going.”

Zeb nodded and took point as they entered the prison wing, bo-rifle at the ready. 

There were no guards.

It was definitely a trap.

Kanan looked up the directory on wall datascreen. “Looks like there’re three other people down here. Kallus is in cell five.”

Rau and Kanan started checking the other cells, just in case.

Bo-rifle still in hand, Zeb ran straight to five and opened the door.

Kallus wasn’t there.

Instead, standing with a smirk in the middle of the cell, was Grand Admiral Thrawn – unless there was some other blue bugger with red eyes running around the Empire.

Thrawn opened his mouth to say something, but Zeb was quicker. He fired off a shot into Thrawn’s thigh, sending the man to his knees.

He could have killed him then and there, but Zeb wanted Thrawn to hurt first.

Holding his bo-rifle up, aimed at Thrawn’s head, Zeb asked, “Where is he?”

“With Governor Pryce, being questioned about these dangerous Rebels attacking her facility,” Thrawn said. “But you will not be going there.”

“Oh?” Zeb growled, low and dangerous. “Why’s that?”

“Because right now, your exits are being blocked off by my Death Troopers.”

“I can take ‘em. I _will_ take ‘em. And you’re gonna rot in here until they blow this facility with you in it.”

“ _ZEB!”_ called Kanan. “Company’s coming!”

“In a minute!” Zeb called back, then he fired the bo-rifle again, hitting the grand admiral in the shoulder. The chiss clutched at the injury and looked like he was going to say something else, but Zeb extended his bo-rifle and hit Thrawn in the chest with an electrical end.

Whatever the grand admiral was going to say, Zeb didn’t care. He held the bo-rifle against him until he caught the scent of burnt flesh. It wasn’t enough to kill the man, but it certainly put the hurt on him.

“If I ever see you again,” Zeb snarled, “I’m going to do to you _exactly_ what your men did to Kal but I won’t stop, not until I’ve bled you dry. I wanna see if I can squeeze you so tight your eyes turn white.”

Thrawn looked up at Zeb and laughed. “I don’t believe you have the mettle, _Garazeb_.”

“Maybe not,” Zeb agreed. “But I’d be happy to try.”

“ ** _ZEB_** _! We need you!”_

With a frustrated growl, Zeb spun the bo-rifle and slammed Thrawn in the head with it. “Kal was right,” he muttered. “You talk too much.”

Zeb stole the grand admiral’s code cylinder and used it to lock the cell shut before running to join Kanan and Rau – except that he couldn’t.

Between them was a whole squad of Death Troopers – and three bodies; those had to be the other prisoners. Zeb’s heart sank; they hadn’t been able to help them at all.

Still, they could help Kallus. Zeb tossed the code cylinder over the trooper’s heads to Rau. “Pryce’s office!” he called. “Go! I’ll catch up!”

Splitting up usually backfired, but Zeb didn’t see a quick way through the Troopers. He had to take them all out so they could get to Kallus unmolested. The mission mattered more than the team sticking together.

 _Kallus_ mattered more than sticking together.

Kanan used the Force and knocked the Troopers back long enough that the two humans could get away.

Zeb grinned at the remaining upright Troopers, a malicious smile full of fang, and clapped his fist in his hand. “This is going to be fun.”

He tore into the Troopers, ignoring blaster bolts glancing across his skin, ripping off helmets, bashing heads together. One Trooper took aim at his heart, but before he could fire, Zeb grabbed the blaster from him, bent it into a sharp angle, and knocked the Trooper over the head with it.

One lasat against twelve of the Empire’s best should not have had a chance. But one _pissed-off_ lasat against twelve Troopers keeping him from his… well, his more-than-a-friend? That changed the odds drastically.

Zeb shot the last Trooper at such a close range that his breastplate shattered. He crumpled to the ground and Zeb started to follow after Kanan and Rau.

_“Zeb? Big guy?”_

His comm. Zeb answered. “Sabine, this better be good.”

_“I need you in the reactor core. I know, I know. But we need you there.”_

Could he trust Kanan and Rau to get Kallus? Could he stand not being the one to help Kallus out of the building and back to safety?

He’d have to. He was needed elsewhere. Zeb growled again. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

He took off running once more, ignoring the pain from the blaster burns, barreling into stormtroopers and officers and anyone else who tried to get into his way.

Kallus had been drugged yet again.

It’d happened a few times over the past month, but eventually even Pryce had quit trying to get information out of him when it became clear he really didn’t know anything.

Today, though, he’d woken up to guards manhandling him and dragging him out of his cell.

 _This is it, then_ , he’d thought. _They’re going to execute me. Finally._

He hadn’t fought it. He hadn’t had the energy to fight it, much less the desire. _Anything_ was better than staying in that cold cell, his mind stuck on Bahryn, stuck in thin pajama-like clothing that held no warmth.

_If only the Rebels hadn’t come for me, I would already be dead by now. I wouldn’t be stuck here, in my own mind._

But the troopers hadn’t dragged him just anywhere for execution. They’d taken him up to Pryce’s office and strapped him to the interrogation table while Pryce and Vornen watched.

Again.

“I don’t know anything,” he spat out as soon as it sunk in that she was going to torture him again.

“You don’t have to know anything,” she said. “You only have to suffer.”

Vornen pressed a button and a spherical interrogation droid floated down from the ceiling. He hit a control, pausing the droid just before it reached Kallus’s neck. “Your friends are on Lothal to save you,” he said. “They’re walking into a trap.”

“They’ll get back out,” Kallus snapped, trying not to let his hope rise. He’d been told this lie before, but he knew to play along or else he’d pay for it later. “Didn’t you learn that from the attack on their base? They’re _good_ at getting out of traps.”

Pryce hummed, a self-satisfied noise. “They may make it out, but you won’t, Kallus. You’ll be dead before they get here.”

“ _If_ they make it this far,” Vornen added. He his the controls one more time and the droid inserted a needle into Kallus’s neck.

The injection site stung as the droid pumped drugs into his body. It pulled back and Kallus felt his head start to swim.

 _Skirtopanol cocktail_ , he thought, from the sour taste forming at the back of his mouth. _They don’t want or need me coherent…_

It took every ounce of concentration Kallus could muster to keep from babbling and he was only half sure he was successful at that.

Kallus was disgusted with himself. He’d been trained to resist _skirtopanol_. He’d been trained to resist all sorts of torture methods, but he’d let himself be broken.

 _No reason not to_ , floated in his mind. _No one’s coming._

Was that his own voice or Vornen’s? Kallus couldn’t tell.

If questions were being asked, Kallus was unaware. He knew someone – probably Pryce – kept slapping his cheek to keep him from drifting off; his skin stung where she struck it. In a way, it reminded him of waking up on the _Ghost_ , everything on fire, where touch, even Zeb’s touch, as starved for it as Kallus had been, was such a painful thing.

Kallus was reminded even more of the _Ghost_ when he started seeing things. That wasn’t usual for a _skirtopanol_ cocktail, but it was the only explanation for seeing Kanan Jarrus and Fenn Rau, in full Mandalorian armor, enter the room. For seeing them in a firefight with Pryce and Vornen.

Pain shot through Kallus’s side, and he was able to grab onto and focus on that pain, enough to realize two things: one, he wasn’t seeing things and two, he’d been shot.

Kanan and Rau were really there; Rau was really tying up both Pryce and Vornen, who were unconscious, and Kanan was really undoing the cage keeping Kallus on the table.

“How’s this for irony?” the Jedi said. “ _Me_ getting _you_ off this table after you strapped me to it a couple years ago.”

“S’ry” Kallus slurred, slumping forward into Kanan’s arms.

Kanan smiled at him. “Yeah, tell me that again when you’re sober. They’ve got you on the happy drugs, I see.”

“Jarrus, we’d better go,” warned Rau. “I just tried to contact Orrelios and the comms are down. They’re closing in.”

_Orrelios. Zeb. Zeb!_

Kanan laughed and Kallus realized he must have said that out loud. “He’s excited to see you, too, Kallus. But you gotta walk; I can’t carry you out of here.”

“Float? W’ th’ Force,” Kallus said, but he tried to walk nonetheless. Zeb was waiting on him.

“Float you with the Force?” Kanan placed a hand on Kallus’s chest to steady him. “That’s not really how it works. Rau, take him so I can take point.”

Kallus was handed off to Rau, the beskar of his armor cold against Kallus’s skin and through his worn clothing. 

Shuddering, Kallus tried to pull away, but Rau held on tight. “You’re an asshole, Kallus, but you sent information to the Rebellion that saved my Protectors. I’m getting you out of here and then we’re even.”

“Books,” Kallus said.

“I think I have a few of those memorized if you want storytime,” Rau said teasingly. “But first we gotta escape and get you some help.”

Kallus focused on the pain in his side again, using it to tie himself to reality. It hurt like hells, but it let him concentrate enough to walk forward with only minimal assistance from Rau. They followed Kanan through the halls.

The Jedi strode ahead, lightsaber drawn, the blue blade something else Kallus could focus on. Beside him, Rau continued to try a comm.

“Blast it,” Rau muttered. “Jarrus, I can’t raise Hera, Orrelios, or anyone from the Command Center team.”

“Then we get out as soon as we can,” Kanan said. His voice was serious now, not as lighthearted as like it had been with Kallus in the Governor’s office.

Kallus couldn’t keep track of what halls they were on or where they were going, but soon they were at an entranceway. Waiting out front was a shuttle. _Shuttles belong in the hangar, not here,_ Kallus knew.

“H’pe tha’s us,” he slurred. 

“That’s us,” Rau confirmed, just as Hera appeared in the shuttle’s entryway.

Kanan dropped behind them. “Get him on board,” he told Rau. “I’m covering you.”

Rau nodded and picked up speed; Kallus stumbled along after as best he could. _Kanan, covering us? He shouldn’t do that for me._ The _swoosh_ of a door behind them caught his attention, but Rau wouldn’t let him turn.

As they neared the shuttle, Hera’s face turned to one of abject horror. “ _Kanan_!” she called.

Rau stopped and turned around; Kallus was able to see a whole company of Death Troopers advancing on Kanan.

“ _Get out of here,_ ” Kanan said, through his teeth, and he flung his hand out towards them.

Rau and Kallus went flying back, landing in the shuttle next to Hera. After a moment’s hesitation, Rau scrambled to his feet and ran to the shuttle’s controls.

Hera screamed at Rau and Kanan both, but Kanan was holding her in the shuttle with the Force. 

_“ **GO**!”_ yelled Kanan one last time. He swung his lightsaber, deflecting bolts with just one hand. The hum and screech of the blade and blasters made Kallus wince.

Rau turned on the shuttle’s repulsorlifts and started closing the door.

The last thing Kallus saw before the door shut was Kanan, leaping into the middle of the Death Troopers, lightsaber flashing as he struck Trooper after Trooper. A bolt hit him in the side and he went down.

Kallus couldn’t see, but he knew that would be the end for Kanan. Death Troopers wouldn’t let him get back up after such a stumble.

The Jedi had sacrificed himself for them. Kallus could barely comprehend it, even though he’d seen as much with his own eyes; not because it was unbelievable, but because his brain was fogging over.

An argument was going on in the cockpit, but Kallus couldn’t really hear what was being said; he was too dizzy to focus.

_Blood loss and truth serum. That’s what’s going to kill me, right as the Rebels rescue me._

_Hah,_ he thought, even though it wasn’t funny.

It’d been a year since Bahryn. He’d survived a year after the Empire abandoned him. Only to end up–

Blackness took over.

The comms went down right as Zeb made it to the reactor core control room; his updates from Rau were cut off suddenly.

_Karabast! How will I know if Kanan and Rau need help? If they find Kal?_

_How will I know if Kal is alive?_

He didn’t have time to dwell on that, however: a strange gray alien was causing trouble for the Rebels and the core itself was shut down.

Rex waved him over. “We can’t get to the control panel because of that… that thing.”

“Someone’s gonna have to do something drastic!” yelled Gregor from the next level up.

_That’s why Sabine called me. I can do drastic; I’m good at it._

“Fine.” Zeb checked his armor, handed his bo-rifle to Rex, the only warning the clones had, and took a running leap off the platform, his powerful jump carrying him all the way to the next platform, where he tackled the gray alien. They tumbled together down into the reactor core itself.

Zeb held on with his hands and fought with his feet, climbing on top of a reactor cell and trying to lure the alien to follow him.

Above him, the platforms extended, allowing the Rebels access to the control panel.

_Better hurry. They’re gonna light this thing up._

Zeb scrambled across the tops of the cells, bounding from one to the next, the alien gaining on him all the while.

When the alien was right behind Zeb, he pulled up short and knocked the alien off the cell.

The alien had prehensile feet, too, and grabbed onto one of the bars surrounding the cell. Working quickly, Zeb squeezed the bars together, locking the alien’s foot to the cell.

He heard his name; Rex, it sounded like.

“Don’t wait on me,” he shouted back, scrambling back to the platforms. On the far side of the core, cells lit up, one by one coming closer to him. Just before the red electricity reached him, he took another leap, this one high rather than long, and clambered back on Rex’s platform.

Zeb didn’t say anything, just held out his hand for his bo-rifle. Below, in the cells, the strange gray alien screamed as he became a fried gray alien.

_Good._

“We’d better go,” Rex said. “Now that the reactor’s running, this thing’s going to take off.”

Zeb joined the group in running to the Command Center, the whole way wanting to veer off and go find Kanan and Rau. He couldn’t, though. He had to trust that Kanan would get Kallus out.

Ashla, but that was hard.

They skidded into the Command Center, stormtroopers hot on their tails. Luckily, Chopper was at the ready and locked the doors behind them, giving them time to escape out the window and up to the troop carrier that Ketsu had hovering there, waiting. Below their feet, the Imperial Complex’s repulsors started up, lifting the entire building off the ground.

One by one, Zeb helped the humans up on the roof, following them just as the stormtroopers broke through the door. He herded everyone onto the carrier and stood on the ramp, picking off stormtroopers as they took off. 

Seconds later, they were out of range of the trooper’s weapons, but Ketsu didn’t slow down. Any second, the Complex would self-destruct and they needed to be out of range. Zeb strapped himself into a seat, grinning toothily at the bound and terrified Lieutenant Lyste across from him.

“Be happy,” Zeb said. “You get to live and our jails are nicer than yours.”

Lyste gulped.

“I see the shuttle!” Ketsu called back. 

His heart in his throat, Zeb got up to go see for himself, but that was when they heard the massive explosion and felt the shockwave rock the ship. Zeb was knocked over on top of Chopper, who immediately hit him with the shock prod.

Chopper managed to shock him in one of his blaster wounds. “You mangy rust bucket!” Zeb shouted and got back to his feet. Holding onto the bulkhead, he made his way to the cockpit, taking the copilot’s seat.

Ketsu was right; there, ahead of them, closer to the ground, was an Imperial shuttle.

“Can we call them?”

“Be my guest.”

Zeb pressed the comm button, preprogrammed for the shuttle before the mission. “Hera, how’d it go?” he asked, trying to sound casual. From the look Ketsu gave him, he failed.

Rau’s voice came back, tight and stressed. “Hera’s busy right now, but we got your boyfriend. Don’t know what kind of shape he’s in. He collapsed on us as we left.”

_Karabast. Ashla, he can’t die before I see him again. He **can’t**._

“Kanan can’t tell?”

There was silence for a moment. “We’ll see when we get to the rendezvous point.”

That… did not reassure Zeb in the least. He stayed in his seat, eyes glued to the shuttle until Ketsu told him in no uncertain terms to watch the scanner for TIEs from the blockade Star Destroyers or get out of the cockpit.

Ezra squeezed into the cockpit, too. He’d been unusually quiet this whole time, and when he spoke, there was a sadness in his voice. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “When we land, I’ll need all three ships.”

“I’m not volunteering to fly unless you tell me what’s going on,” Ketsu said.

“We’re going to fly up near the destroyers and call for help.”

“The Rebellion?” Zeb said. “You think they’ll come now?”

“Not them,” Ezra said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t go along with this if I told you.”

Ketsu laughed. “Kid, you’re not making your case.”

“I’ll fly it,” said Rex, from the back. “If she won’t. We’ve followed Ezra this far, why not one more step?”

“Thanks, Rex.” Ezra smiled, a real smile, but it lasted only a few seconds.

“Ezra, what’s wrong?” Zeb asked, gut twisting. “The Force telling you something?”

“Yeah,” Ezra said. “And it’s not good. The Force is hurting right now.”

 _Kal_ , was Zeb’s immediate thought. He gripped the edge of the control panel, dutifully watching the scanner so no one could tell how scared he was at that moment.

Of course, that didn’t fool Ezra. The kid patted Zeb’s back before making his way to the rear of the ship.

Ryder’s people were waiting for them back at the hideout and met them, pointing back towards Capital City.

The Command Center team had purposefully turned on the city’s shields, to save it from the shrapnel of the exploding Complex, but now it was protecting the city from orbital bombardment; the Star Destroyers taking revenge for the Complex, Zeb supposed. 

He wondered if Thrawn had managed to make it out or if he’d still been unconscious in the cell when the Complex blew.

Zeb really hoped it was the latter. Although, if he got to hunt down and hurt Thrawn again, it might be satisfying. It all depended on what kind of shape Kallus was in.

Ryder marched the horrified Lyste, still in binders, into a small dome-shaped dwelling. Zeb could hear his protests the whole way, but dismissed them. He hadn’t lied when he told Lyste that he’d live.

The shuttle landed a minute after the troop carrier and Zeb was waiting.

The ramp lowered and no one came out right away. Zeb didn’t wait, though. 

He stopped in the entryway, taking in the scene.

Next to him, trying to pull him up, was Rau.

In the copilot’s seat, weeping, was Hera.

And that was it.

 _Where’s Kanan_? he almost asked, but realized that was stupid. If Kanan wasn’t in this ship, he’d been left behind. 

And there was only one reason he’d be left behind: he was dead. If he hadn’t been when they left the Complex, then he was now.

Despite the clenching of his heart, Zeb’s eyes darted to the floor. There, unmoving, lay Kallus, looking worse for the wear, but _there._

Zeb froze, unsure what to do. Did he go to Kallus? Did he go to Hera? His heart was pulled in both directions.

“Orrelios!” said Rau sharply, snapping Zeb out of his thoughts. “You get him. That’s the whole reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

Zeb nodded, unable to say anything because his throat was closing up. He crouched by Kallus, hand on the man’s chest. 

He was breathing.

_Thank the Ashla._

Now to keep him that way. Zeb carefully picked Kallus up, noticing the blaster wound in his side. 

They matched in that, at least.

He carried Kallus off the shuttle, unsure if his tears were from joy or despair.

Sabine and Ezra ran past him into the ship. _Good. Hera needs them._

One of Ryder’s people showed Zeb into a tent with a cot, then pulled out some medical supplies. “May I–?”

Zeb took a step to the side, crouching at the head of the cot, and _looked_ at Kallus for the first time in nine months.

His hair had grown out in prison, though the ends were still red, as had his beard. It was a scruffy and unusual look, one Zeb thought Kallus probably hated but had no choice about.

Kallus was _skinny_ , too, past the point of what Zeb thought looked healthy on a human. His muscles were more pronounced, as if his skin shrunk on him. Had they starved him?

“Oh, Kal…” Zeb said softly, brushing hair out of his face. “I’m sorry we didn’t come for you sooner.”

The medic – or Zeb assumed it was the settlement’s medic – made quick work of the blaster wound. He checked Kallus’s neck and pointed out the needle mark. “Drugs,” he said. “He might not wake for a while, but if it’s the usual interrogation mix, he _will_ wake up.”

Zeb nodded, feeling his heart lighten a little. He stood, planning to go check on Hera, but the medic stopped him. 

“You’re next.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zeb said, waving him off. “I need to go–”

“Your wounds need to be treated,” the medic insisted in a strong voice.

“I’ll come back,” he promised. “But I need to check on my friend. I need to find out what happened.”

The medic bit his lip but nodded. “Okay, but come right back.”

The scene outside was somber. Zeb saw Sabine hurl her helmet as far as she could and Ezra talking to Rau. Off to the side, Hera stood, almost alone; Chopper had rolled up to her and held her hand with one of his manipulators.

Zeb started toward her, but Rau stopped him. “Leave her,” he said, holding his helmet under his arm.

“What happened?” Zeb asked, bewildered. “Why didn’t Kanan come back with you?”

Rau shook his head sadly. “Ambush at the last second. Death Troopers. If Kanan hadn’t held them off, we wouldn’t have gotten out.”

“And you didn’t _wait_ for him?”

“Orrelios, he didn’t want us to wait for him. He used the Force to push us all away, far enough that we could take off.”

Zeb deflated. That sounded _exactly_ like something Kanan would have done. “You’re sure he didn’t make it out?”

“One man, even a Jedi, against a company of Death Troopers? The odds…” Rau shook his head.

Zeb nodded. Rau was right. As much as he would like to hope, Kanan was dead.

_Karabast. Kanan saved my life so many times. He and Hera saved me after Lasan. And he died for me. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me._

_Hera would be right to hate me after this._

Hunched in on himself, Zeb thanked Rau and made his way back to the medic’s tent.

Back to Kallus. Back to the whole reason they were on Lothal.

_He better kriffing make it. I can’t lose **both** him and Kanan on the same day._

As he walked, the three ships took off again, heading for the upper atmosphere and whatever Ezra’s plan had been.

Zeb hoped it worked.

He returned to consciousness slowly, almost peacefully.

Everything ached. He vaguely remembered being interrogated, being electrocuted, being drugged.

Being rescued.

He gasped for air, warm air, not the frigid air of his cell, finding it harder than it should have been to fill his lungs. He focused all his energy and opened his eyes.

The world was dark but brown, the canvas of a tent above him, the lack of light signaling it was night. He tried to lift his arms, but couldn’t.

He _could_ lift his head and that’s how he saw the lasat, bent over him, head on his abdomen, asleep.

 _Zeb._ He couldn’t place his own name, not yet, but he knew _Zeb_. _Zeb_ meant safety and warmth and soft fur and–

And a kiss.

He jolted a little as he remembered: a brush of lips in a refresher, a small hint of spice on his tongue, a promise of something more.

The movement woke Zeb. Bright green eyes blinked open and he wasn’t sure if it was because Zeb had been asleep, but the lasat looked weary beyond mere tiredness.

“Kal.” 

That was right; he was _Kal_. He was also _Alexsandr_.

He was _Alexsandr Kallus_ , who had friends enough to come rescue him.

Zeb sat up, one hand cupping Alexsandr’s face. “Yer awake. Ashla, yer awake.”

Through the persistent ache, Alexsandr reached a hand up and wrapped his fingers around Zeb’s larger ones. The fur was short and soft and Zeb rubbed his thumb over Alexsandr’s hand. 

Despite the relief in his voice, Zeb still looked distraught.

“What happened?” Alexsandr asked. He knew there was something important, but he couldn’t remember it.

“Kanan,” Zeb said quietly. “He’s gone.”

Alexsandr blinked, remembering. Death Troopers, a lightsaber humming, being thrown back by the Force yet again. Kanan dying.

For _him_.

Alexsandr’s stomach plummeted. “Zeb, I’m– I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have come for me. It wasn’t worth–”

“Stop it,” Zeb said, sounding on the verge of anger. “Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself. If anyone, it’s me for insisting we had to rescue you. Or Ezra, for backing me up.”

Eyes wide, Alexsandr nodded. The words of the Bendu, so many months ago, echoed in his head, warning him of consequences for choosing sides. He'd thought it just meant consequences for him – his imprisonment, his eventual execution – but apparently it meant consequences for others, too. Guilt gnawed at him, but he could keep that bottled up inside, if that’s what Zeb wanted.

Struck with a sudden desire to sit up, Alexsandr let go of Zeb’s hand, pushing himself up despite the sharp pain in his side. Zeb helped him swing his legs over the side of the cot.

Alexsandr found himself facing Zeb, sitting between his knees. He reached out to run fingers through Zeb’s beard, the hair thicker and stiffer than his fur. “Zeb, I owe you _everything_.”

“You only owe me one thing,” Zeb said. “But it can wait for when you’re ready.”

 _A kiss,_ Alexsandr thought. “I’m ready now.”

“You just woke up. Yer not ready; yer s’pose to be healing up,” Zeb whispered, though he leaned in a little.

“I know when I’m ready, Zeb. I’ve been waiting nine exceptionally long months for this chance.”

“But–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Zeb.”

Zeb gave him a questioning look, double-checking.

Alexsandr answered by tugging lightly on Zeb’s face. Zeb leaned forward easily and met him with a gentle kiss, soft and far too short.

Pulling back a little, Zeb checked again. “You sure you want this still?” he asked, mere centimeters from Alexsandr’s face.

“What do you think got me through every day of Thrawn and Pryce and Vornen trying to freeze me out?” Alexsandr pointed out. 

He closed the distance between their lips and this time the kiss was longer, deeper, much more like the kisses Alexsandr had dreamed about ever since the last time he saw Zeb. He wrapped his fingers around the back of Zeb’s head, holding him close while Zeb’s large hands encircled his waist, carefully avoiding his wound.

It was easy to get lost for a few moments: the smell of lasat, strong but comforting, the feel of Zeb’s much larger lips and hands – and wondering what else would be larger – and the promise that Zeb wanted much, much more from him. Alexsandr moaned into Zeb’s mouth, which just made the lasat kiss him that much harder.

Reluctantly, Alexsandr broke for air, leaning back and looking Zeb up and down. The light in the tent was somewhat dim and he hadn’t noticed before that moment that Zeb was covered in patches of burned fur and bacta gel. “Kriff, Zeb, what did you do to yourself?”

“Small group of Death Troopers found me after I locked up Thrawn in your cell.”

Alexsandr’s eyes grew wide. “You did _what_ to Grand Admiral Thrawn?”

Zeb almost looked sheepish. “Well, he was trying to taunt me about you, so I shot him and hit him in the head and left him there. Unless he woke up quick and got out, he was in it when we blew up the place.”

“Blew up the place?” Alexsandr shook his head. “Wait, no. Go back another step. A _small group_ of Death Troopers?”

Zeb shrugged. “Well, there was about a squadron but Kanan an’ Rau took out a few before I got there.” 

Alexsandr blinked. “ _Fenn Rau_? I didn’t imagine him?”

“Nope,” Zeb said. “That intel you sent let us save the Protectors and they joined up with the Rebellion. Rau volunteered to come help save you in return.”

“Fenn Rau came for me?” Alexsandr sighed. “Zeb, you had better start from the beginning.”

Zeb did, answering Alexsandr’s questions and protests along the way, explaining everything from their decision to split off from the main Rebel cell to finding out Kanan had died.

“And why aren’t we being roasted with turbolasers right now?” Alexsandr asked.

“Ah, see, that’s the clever bit,” Zeb said. “Ezra has this _thing_ where he can connect with animals, you know?”

Alexsandr didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.

“He’s got a connection with purrgil. He called ‘em here and they tore up the Star Destroyers.”

“Purrgil.” Alexsandr looked at Zeb in disbelief. “Ezra used Jedi mind tricks on _purrgil_ to take down a blockade.”

“I think he more asked a favor of ‘em,” Zeb said. “But yeah.”

Alexsandr slumped a little, taking it all in. Just trying to comprehend it all – that the Spectres sacrificed _so much_ just for him, that they once again took the Empire by complete surprise with their tactics – was exhausting.

Zeb seemed to notice. He leaned forward again and kissed Alexsandr’s forehead. “You need rest. So do I.”

Nodding, Alexsandr prepared to lay back down and feel his blaster wound again. He paused, not wanting to leave Zeb, even just to sleep. “Do you– do you think you could fit on the cot, too?”

“I can try,” Zeb said.

It took some painful maneuvering and Alexsandr was only being kept from rolling off the cot by one of Zeb’s arms around his chest, but they made it work. Alexsandr breathed deeply, warm and safe and free once more.

It was enough to make a man cry.

“Zeb?” he asked quietly.

Zeb hummed a questioning noise. “Yeah, Kal?”

“Call me Alexsandr. If we’re sharing a bed again, you at least ought to use my given name.”

Zeb laughed, snorting a little. “I still don’t see you as an Alexsandr, but if it bothers you that I don’t… I’ll do it. Alexsandr’s a mouthful, though. Alex?”

“If you must.” Alexsandr grinned, however, even though Zeb couldn’t see it.

“Right. G’night, _Alex_ ,” Zeb mumbled.

“Good night, Zeb.” Alexsandr gripped Zeb’s arm, holding him securely. “Thank you for my life.”

Zeb’s answer was a kiss to the back of Alexsandr’s head.

That was as good an answer as any, Alexsandr supposed, considering it also a promise for many more kisses in the future.

He couldn’t believe he _had_ a future once more. One with Zeb.

He intended to make the most of it.


	10. Chapter 10

The Massassi Group Rebels had medics, who took Alexsandr straight back to the medbay for more treatment than he’d been able to get on Lothal.

The Massassi Group Rebels had a core of leaders, who dressed down all the Spectres and their allies for disobeying orders and going AWOL.

The Massassi Group Rebels, however, did _not_ have psychiatrists or therapists or anyone to talk to Alexsandr about what had happened to him, or to Hera and the other Spectres about the loss of Kanan.

Even though he had far from processed everything that had occurred, Zeb found himself the being of choice for Sabine and Ezra to confide in; he was adult and therefore theoretically knowledgeable, and he wasn’t Hera, whom everyone hated to disturb.

Kanan’s death had hit both the younger Spectres hard and they struggled to deal with it in their own ways. 

For the first few days, Ezra spoke very little and spent much of their remaining time on Lothal out in the tall grass prairies by himself. When Zeb asked what he’d been doing, he’d just answered, “Talking with the loth-wolves,” and shrugged as if Zeb would know what he meant.

Zeb supposed that was some Lothalian saying he wasn’t aware of; loth-wolves were supposed to be extinct, so Ezra couldn’t mean that literally.

Sabine threw herself into a new painting, this one on her ceiling, an updated portrait of the whole group: Ezra with his new haircut, Kanan with his full beard and mask, and – to Zeb’s surprise – adding Alexsandr tucked under Zeb’s arm.

Hera herself worked harder than ever, up earlier in the mornings and awake longer at nights than anyone else. Zeb tried to keep her schedule, to keep her company, but quickly became exhausted even during the day. She wouldn’t admit to it, but he was pretty sure she was trying to avoid her bedroom and the memories it contained.

Zeb understood grief. He’d grieved an entire planet, once, and knew the toll it took on a being. Maybe that made him wiser than the others while they mourned Kanan, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Kanan and Hera had pulled Zeb out of a very dark and dangerous place when they invited him to become a Spectre. They’d given his life meaning again, kept him from being consumed by his loss and his anger, and helped him find his sense of humor and joy again. Zeb owed them both everything. Kanan had been a best friend and a brother, as close as Zeb had been to his own siblings; losing Kanan was like losing his family once more.

He could only imagine how much worse it was for Hera.

At least Zeb had Alexsandr to focus on, to talk with, to try and lead him to healing.

Alexsandr had spent a few days in the medbay for malnutrition, as well as that nasty blaster wound, and been released to the Spectre’s care.

It hadn’t occurred to Zeb until he received a message from General Draven that Alexsandr was still under suspicion by the Rebels, and Zeb was supposed to keep him contained in the _Ghost._

 _How stupid is that?_ Zeb thought every time he saw the datapad the Intelligence courier brought. _Do they think the Imperials tortured him because he was on their side?_

Alexsandr accepted it quietly, however, and prepared for his interrogation by practicing on Zeb, recalling everything that had happened since he left Atollon.

Back on Atollon, Alexsandr had warned Zeb that he wouldn’t like all the things Alexsandr would have to do to be a spy and he’d been right. Some of the activities Alexsandr had needed to engage in – framing other officers, letting just enough Rebel information slip through to avoid suspicion, allowing a few Rebels to be set up so he could maintain credibility… Well, Zeb _didn’t_ like them.

But Zeb understood them. He accepted them because they’d been necessary to keep Alexsandr alive and providing information – and that was the most important thing, as Zeb saw it. Hopefully Rebel Intelligence would see it that way too.

A few hours before Alexsandr’s ‘meeting’ with Draven, he asked Zeb for help with his hair.

“This is familiar,” Zeb joked as they both squeezed into the _Ghost_ ’s refresher.

Alexsandr gave a half smile. “This time, just get rid of the red, please?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Zeb said, trying to sound encouraging. He turned on the trimmer and carefully cut off the short red ends of Kallus’s hair. What was left was shaggy, but blond once more, and Zeb thought Alexsandr looked much more like himself again, especially since he had done away with the beard and re-shaped his muttonchops almost immediately after being released from the medbay. It wasn’t his Imperial haircut, not by a long shot, but it was longer than Calix’s buzzcut and seemed more natural.

It was, in a way, a relief. Zeb had Alexsandr back, with the last physical remnants of Calix lying on the floor, hopefully never to be seen again.

Alexsandr leaned back against Zeb when they were done, head down and staring at the sink.

Zeb wrapped one arm around him and used his free hand to brush out Alexsandr’s hair, shaking out the trimmed ends. “It’s gonna be okay, Alex” he said. “General Draven’s hard, but he’s not cruel. He’ll see all you did and all you went through. Prob’ly end up giving you an officer’s position workin’ for him.”

Laughing hollowly, Alexsandr shook his head. “Not with my track record. I can only hope they’ll let you come visit me like Commander Sato did.”

Forcing Alexsandr to turn around and face him, Zeb touched their foreheads together. “You’ve been with the Empire too long. You joined up with us. You helped us. Your information saved a bunch of us. They’ll see that.”

Alexsandr ran a hand along Zeb’s jawline. “I don’t have much hope for that right now.”

“Then I’ll hope enough for us both.” Zeb caught Alexsandr’s hand and kissed his palm.

“You Rebels and hope,” Alexsandr said, clenching his fist tight as if he could hold on to the kiss.

“You mean _us_ Rebels and hope,” Zeb corrected. “You’re a Rebel, too.”

“We’ll see,” Alexsandr said. “We’ll see if they let me be one.”

It was the first time Alexsandr hadn’t argued with Zeb over the term. Zeb almost made a remark, but held his tongue. He didn’t want to tease Alexsandr at such a tenuous moment.

Unlike the last time Zeb shaved Alexsandr’s hair, their kiss wasn’t interrupted. Like the last time, though, it was a little hesitant, Alexsandr’s nerves coming through.

Zeb tangled his fingers in Alexsandr’s soft hair. They’d had enough kisses since Lothal to work out the tricky bits – their difference in size, the danger of being nipped by fangs – but each kiss was still amazing and sent a thrill like no other thing in his life through Zeb.

 _He_ got to have this with somebody. Zeb had always assumed he wouldn’t: with the fall of Lasan, lasats weren’t exactly common in the galaxy anymore and most people the Spectres worked with saw him as the muscle and nothing more. The idea that someone – even someone like Alexsandr that he once hated – could see him as something more than his job, more than a stereotype, could see him as someone worth _wanting_ …

It was a wonderful feeling and Zeb hoped he made Alexsandr feel just as special.

From the satisfied sigh Alexsandr made, Zeb was doing all right in that regard.

“Alex,” Zeb murmured, breaking the kiss. “We can take this to our bunk, if you want.”

It was a forward suggestion on Zeb’s part. He’d been trying so hard to take care of Alexsandr that the two of them hadn’t gone past kissing just yet. They had a few hours before he had to meet Draven, though, so they could steal some time for themselves.

 _If_ Alexsandr wanted.

 _Zeb_ knew he wanted to.

But Alexsandr was still healing, mentally if not physically. He was not the same ex-Imperial who left Atollon and Zeb was trying to learn this new person while wondering if the old one would ever come back. Wondering just how bad things had gotten to actually _break_ the man, leaving him still trying to scoop up pieces of himself to put back together. Wondering if Alexsandr had left the worst things out of his recitation to Zeb.

A heavy silence hung in the air before Alexsandr answered, leaving Zeb holding his breath in anticipation.

The answer came in the form of a soft kiss on Zeb’s lips, and a whispered, “Yes. I want that. I want you.”

Zeb heard the implied ‘In case they imprison me again,’ but said nothing. He could offer better reassurance physically, at least for the moment.

First though… Zeb let his hands trail down Alexsandr’s body as he knelt to clean up the trimmed hair, making sure his thumbs brushed the front of Alexsandr’s pants. The man jerked his hips forward a bit at the touch, earning a smile from Zeb.

“Gonna take care of you, Alex,” he promised. “You’re always gonna be safe with me.”

Alexsandr braced himself, hands on Zeb’s shoulders. “What happened to going to yo– our room?”

Zeb looked up with wide eyes and a teasing grin. “I’m just cleaning up our mess,” he said innocently.

Groaning, Alexsandr squeezed Zeb’s shoulders. “Hurry up, please?”

“So polite.” Zeb grinned, but he did hurry.

Once the refresher was clean, Zeb stood slowly, hands exploring upwards as he went. With one more light kiss, he took Alexsandr’s hand and led him to their cabin.

Up until Lothal, Zeb had shared the room with Ezra, which had worked fine for years. But with the addition of Alexsandr to the crew, the kid had escaped to Kanan’s old assigned bunk, sharing with Rex. The top bunk then freed, Zeb had taken it off the wall and laid it on the floor next to his. The move left little floor space to move around, but made sleeping much more comfortable; they could share the beds without triggering any lingering claustrophobia from Alexsandr’s time on the _Liberator_.

While Zeb locked the door behind them, Alexsandr tugged off his shoes. Zeb eyed them with a little disgust; the thought of trapping his feet like that got to him every time.

What didn’t inspire disgust, however, was the way Alexsandr stood in front of Zeb after that, clearly waiting for a sign to continue. Quite the opposite, really.

Zeb reached out, one hand behind Alexsandr’s head, the other on his lower back, and pulled lightly, guiding him closer so Zeb could kiss him again.

Alexsandr fumbled at Zeb’s clothes as they kissed, tugging off armored bits and searching for the zipper pull while most of his focus seemed to be on Zeb’s mouth. He pulled back a little, biting Zeb’s lower lip for a second, almost as if he were a lasat.

 _Ashla, that’s hot._ Zeb twined his claws in Alexsandr’s hair and leaned in, rubbing their cheeks together. Alexsandr gasped as he did so, clinging to Zeb’s shoulders and pressing back against Zeb’s face.

As if he knew what Zeb was doing.

Zeb murmured a comment to that effect as he moved to Alexsandr’s other cheek, filling his muttonchops with Zeb’s scent.

“I– I do,” Alexsandr admitted, distraction evident in his voice. “Before Draven told you to keep me from the HoloNet, I look– looked things up. Seemed important to know.”

“Things?” Zeb asked with a low chuckle as he pulled back again. “You looked up lasat sex, didn’t you?”

Cheeks coloring beautifully, Alexsandr watched Zeb’s face as he spoke. “Yes.”

Zeb smiled, letting a hint of fang show. The pupils of Alexsandr’s eyes widened, which just made Zeb smile more. “Good,” he said, in a low purr. Quickly, Zeb pulled Alexsandr’s shirt off him and tossed it aside, running his hands over the newly exposed skin.

Alexsandr was still too skinny for a human, but it’d only been a week since his rescue and Zeb knew for sure he was eating properly once more. Eventually, with time and care, Alexsandr would return to being the strong warrior he had been before.

Zeb had seen his scars before, but hadn’t gotten to study them until that moment. Zeb traced fingers along a few, including a set on Alexsandr’s right bicep that matched his claws almost perfectly.

Silently questioning, Zeb caught Alexsandr’s eyes.

“The lasat mercenary who worked for Saw Gererra,” Alexsandr confirmed quietly.

“Karabast, Alex,” Zeb said, wanting to fuss about the sheer number of scars Alexsandr had – with bacta around, there was almost no reason for scars unless you wanted them – but Zeb knew he’d had just as many injuries over the years. He just hadn’t chosen to keep trophies. “I was gonna see if you’d let me mark you, but you’re marked enough.”

“You can mark me,” Alexsandr said, yanking on Zeb’s zipper and tugging his jumpsuit off his shoulders. Zeb maneuvered to assist in the undressing. “But I want to mark you, too.”

Surprised, Zeb stopped with his jumpsuit halfway off. Alexsandr gave him a soft smile and began unbuttoning his own pants.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, in a tone that clearly said he knew it was no problem.

Zeb shook his head. Just the idea of Alexsandr marking him had him sliding out of his sheath already. He pushed his jumpsuit to the floor, rising just as Alexsandr finished slipping off his pants as well.

It felt like a dream. 

Really, it _was_ a dream. Zeb had dreamed of this with Alexsandr so many times during their nine months apart that even Ezra had quit teasing him. 

Those dreams were coming true, because Alexsandr stood in front of him, naked and almost fully hard, just waiting for Zeb to touch him.

So Zeb did. Carefully, he reached out and guided Alexsandr to sit on the bed, crawling above him, lavishing him with kisses and nips the whole way up his chest. Finding a spot of clear skin on Alexsandr’s shoulder, Zeb hovered over it, fangs barely touching Alexsandr’s skin.

“Here,” he said quietly, both a question and a pronouncement. 

“There,” Alexsandr agreed breathily.

Zeb bit down.

Not as hard as he would have if Alexsandr was another lasat – human skin was so fragile. _Humans_ were so fragile – but enough to break skin and draw blood. Enough that Alexsandr would feel the ache later, when he was facing Draven. Enough that it would scar.

Alexsandr arched his back beneath Zeb, bringing his dick into contact with Zeb’s unsheathed cock.

Zeb moaned at the touch, pulling away from Alexsandr’s shoulder to examine his handiwork. He brushed away the blood with his thumb, revealing a bite mark: four small fang marks connected by the shallow indents of the rest of Zeb’s teeth. 

“Mine,” Zeb said, nuzzling the mark before moving to kiss Alexsandr again.

Alexsandr nodded in response and kissed his way down Zeb’s throat, stopping where the most prominent vein met his collarbone. “Here?” he asked.

Surprised again, Zeb paused. “D’you know what there means?” he asked.

“It means you’re officially mine,” Alexsandr said, breath ruffling Zeb’s fur. “It means I want more than just to sleep with you.”

“Right,” Zeb said, mind reeling. He hadn’t dreamed of making such a statement on Alexsandr’s skin yet, hadn’t dreamed Alexsandr would _want_ to. “If you’re sure, Alex? That’s a pretty serious thing. I’m not against it, but…”

“I want this,” Alexsandr confirmed. “I want _you,_ Zeb. I’ve wanted you since we were sitting in that cell playing moebius. It took me too long to realize it.”

Zeb huffed a short laugh, smiling. “I think I was almost as slow as you. Almost.”

Alexsandr stretched up, teeth brushing Zeb’s fur, and hesitated.

“Yes,” said Zeb. “There.”

Alexsandr bit down hard, marking him. Zeb felt his pulse rush, the sensation of Alexsandr’s mouth on his body exhilarating. It hurt when he broke skin, but Zeb didn’t care. His only concern was if Alexsandr was using enough force to cause a lasting scar.

After a moment, Alexsandr fell back on the bed, pupils still blown wide and breathing heavily, a touch of bright red blood on his lips.

Zeb kissed it away, a long and deep kiss with Alexsandr, who’d just proclaimed he wanted to be Zeb’s mate. Who’d jumped a few steps of lasat courting, but Zeb wasn’t complaining.

“Zeb,” whispered Alexsandr against his lips. “I need you to know, whatever happens to me, that you were my reason to keep going. Every day I was Fulcrum. Every day I was in that cell on Lothal. Even when I thought I would die there, I was thinking of you.”

Resting his forehead against Alexsandr’s, Zeb’s instinct was to immediately reply with how much _he’d_ relied on the promise of getting Alexsandr back safely, but he forced himself to let Alexsandr’s words sink in.

 _‘Whatever happens to me_ ’. _He doesn’t believe he’ll be coming back here a free man. Do I?_

_I have to._

“Nothin’s gonna happen to you,” Zeb replied, looking Alexsandr straight in the eyes. “I want you here with me and if I gotta rough up a general to make sure of that, I will.”

Alexsandr smiled and wrapped his arms around Zeb, pulling their bodies together. “You’re determined to get yourself kicked out of the Rebellion, aren’t you? First you go AWOL, then you threaten a ranking officer.”

Zeb moved his hips, pressing his erection between Alexsandr’s thighs. “Worry about that later,” he said. “Worry about sex now.”

“You brought it up,” Alexsandr pointed out with a smirk. He followed Zeb’s instructions, though, reaching down to wrap a hand around Zeb’s cock.

Zeb keened at the touch. “Karabast, Alex, I either need to be in you or you need to be in me, and it’d better happen soon.”

Laughing, Alexsandr squeezed lightly. “I want you inside me.”

That was all Zeb needed to hear. He moved quickly, reaching in a drawer for the lube he’d stashed away in the hope of getting to bed this man. Alexsandr took it from him and moved up on the bed, where he could open himself up while Zeb watched.

And oh, did Zeb watch. One finger, then two, then three, and all the time Zeb imagined what it was going to feel like when it was him inside Alexsandr instead.

“Lie down,” Alexsandr instructed, straddling Zeb once he obeyed. Carefully, he guided himself down and Zeb bit down on a fist to stifle a loud moan as Alexsandr’s body accepted him.

Alexsandr moved slowly, taking him a few centimeters at a time until Zeb was fully sheathed within him. Zeb couldn’t take his eyes off Alexsandr’s face; the man had his head thrown back, mouth open, giving little gasps every time he shifted. 

He was absolutely gorgeous like that.

Zeb planned to find out what he looked like utterly wrecked, too.

Grabbing Alexsandr by the hips, he guided the human up and down on his cock, starting cautiously but moving quicker as Alexsandr acclimated to Zeb’s size.

Alexsandr braced himself against Zeb’s chest, fingers grasping fur tightly, tugging with every thrust. “ _Stars_ ,” he whimpered, voice pitched. “Stars, Zeb. Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” Zeb replied, aware he sounded just as eager. He _felt_ just as eager. His whole body seemed aflame with pleasure, making him tremble each time Alexsandr moved.

The wanton noises dropping from Alexsandr’s mouth were also doing a number on Zeb and his breath quickened watching Alexsandr begin to stroke himself with one hand.

Zeb reached down and joined his hand with Alexsandr’s, wrapping all the way around the human’s cock.

Alexsandr shuddered at Zeb’s touch, a desperate whimper rising until it became a repetitive whine loud enough to be heard outside the cabin.

Zeb couldn’t find it in himself to care about keeping quiet anymore. He felt his orgasm building and knew he couldn’t last much longer. “Alex–” he growled, the only warning he was able to give.

Alexsandr bit his lip and nodded as Zeb involuntarily sped up his thrusts until he came, keening again as Alexsandr rode him through it.

His limbs were quivering jelly, but Zeb wanted to watch Alexsandr come, too. Wanted to tip him over the edge. Mustering his strength, Zeb pulled Alexsandr off him – to a frantic cry of “ _Zeb_!” – and slid down between Alexsandr’s legs, taking the human’s cock into his mouth. Wrapping his lips around Alexsandr’s cock, Zeb showed him just how nimble a lasat’s tongue could be.

Alexsandr reached up, grabbing the frame of the top bunk to hold himself fairly steady while Zeb worked him. He writhed anyway, eyes squeezed shut and gasping Zeb’s name, which only encouraged Zeb to keep teasing him, both with tongue and a finger pressing into his loosened entrance.

Alexsandr’s eyes slammed open. “Zeb,” he panted. “Gonna…”

Zeb’s response was to press his finger in all the way, stroking Alexsandr’s prostate just once, careful not to catch his claw.

It was enough. Alexsandr spilled into Zeb’s mouth, desperately calling Zeb’s name. Letting the salty come slide down his throat, Zeb gentled Alexsandr through his orgasm and guided Alexsandr down on the bed next to him, limp and sated.

Zeb lay there for a minute, still breathing heavily, trying to take in the fact that _finally_ , after nine months of dreaming about it, he’d gotten to bed Alexsandr Kallus. He’d gotten to thoroughly kriff a man who once tried to kill him, but now wanted to _be with_ him.

 _Karabast_ , was that ever a good feeling.

Alexsandr was still limp, so Zeb reached over and rearranged them both until Alexsandr was lying on Zeb’s chest, Zeb’s arms wrapped around him protectively.

Fingers kneading Zeb’s fur, Alexsandr roused slowly, lifting his head to look at Zeb. “Why,” he asked after a few minutes, “did we not do that before I left?”

Zeb laughed. “You’re the one who was all stoic and ‘no, Zeb, we can’t’,” he pointed out. “ _I_ was more than willing.”

“Right. Never listen to me again when it comes to sex,” Alexsandr instructed, a loose smile forming. “Obviously my instincts are terribly wrong.”

“Oh, buddy, your instincts are pretty kriffin’ good,” Zeb said, rubbing his back. “It’s that Imperial self-denial we gotta work on.”

“That, too.” Alexsandr flopped back down on Zeb’s chest, golden hair covering his face. “Wake me up when it’s time to go see Draven.”

“I got you,” Zeb promised, combing a hand through that hair. _From here on out, I got you, as long as you want me, too._

Alexsandr woke, sore but happy, still in Zeb’s arms.

The lasat slept, too, blissfully unaware of the soft insistent beeping of Alexsandr’s chrono.

It was time to get ready for his interrogation, Alexsandr knew, but he was loath to move. Zeb’s presence was warm and soft and reassuring and everything Alexsandr wanted in that moment.

He forced himself to get up, however, knowing he’d only be signing his own jail sentence if he failed to show for what Draven had so politely termed his ‘debriefing.’ 

Moving quietly so that he didn’t wake Zeb, Alexsandr tried to clean himself up as best he could, using his dirty clothes, before dressing in something decently neat. He’d been given a selection of clothes after arriving on Yavin IV, since he brought none himself, but the choices were limited, used and worn in.

Idly, he wondered if some of his clothes came from Draven himself. The General was one of the few humans around Alexsandr’s height on-planet, so it made some sense.

Hopefully Draven didn’t hold it against Alexsandr.

Alexsandr snuck out of the cabin and the ship, stopping to take a deep breath of fresh air just outside the _Ghost_.

“I ought to be warning you against hurting Zeb, but I think we’re past that point. You did that when you left him behind.”

Alexsandr stiffened at Hera’s voice, even though it didn’t sound angry. He’d been doing his best to stay away from her since returning from Lothal.

Zeb had told him multiple times not to feel guilty about Kanan’s death, but Alexsandr couldn’t help himself. Kanan had died so that Rau could get _him_ to safety. 

Logically, Alexsandr knew Kanan had probably been thinking primarily of Hera, piloting the getaway shuttle, but none of them would have been there if Alexsandr hadn’t gotten himself caught by Thrawn in the first place.

Of course, with Saari betraying him, being caught had been inevitable.

It still didn’t make Alexsandr feel comfortable facing Hera.

“I’ll do my best not to hurt him,” he promised, aware he’d slipped back into an Imperial tone of voice.

Hera stopped, standing next to him, arms crossed. Alexsandr dared to look and was relieved to see she appeared to be amused rather than upset.

“Will you also stop avoiding me?” she asked directly.

Alexsandr opened his mouth to protest, but knew it was pointless. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I was attempting not to remind you–”

“Of Kanan. I know.” She smiled sadly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Alexsandr protested gently. “I can never make up for what you lost.”

Hera hummed. “Maybe you can’t, not to me. But seeing Zeb happy again does a lot more than you think.”

“I know that’s why you came for me,” Alexsandr said with a nod.

“No,” Hera said. “We came for you because you’re one of us. You’re a Rebel and we watch out for our own. Even if the leadership says not to. _Especially_ if the leadership says not to.” She gestured towards the great Massassi Temple.

It was still instinct for Alexsandr to deny being a Rebel, but he supposed that it was pointless to argue when he was standing in a Rebel base, waiting to see if his work as a Rebel spy had earned him a place amongst the Rebels. Whatever happened with Draven, he was a Rebel at heart after everything he’d been through. 

He didn’t know what to say to the notion that he belonged with them, however.

Hera nudged his arm. “Come on. I’m going to see Draven with you. We’d better get going.”

“You are?” Alexsandr asked, surprised.

“I am. Gotta have someone in your corner, right?”

They stepped off, Hera’s long purposeful strides matching Alexsandr’s.

He marveled as they walked. _Maybe it’s not just Zeb that wants me around,_ he wondered. _Maybe the other Spectres more than tolerate me._

_How did I ever earn such a thing?_

_Will I get to reap the benefits of their approval or will Zeb be left visiting me in a cell again?_

Alexsandr stood, slightly shocked, holding onto the rank tab and coat he’d been handed almost as soon he walked into his meeting. “Captain?” he asked, aware of the irony that he’d been an Imperial captain just a few months ago. If it weren’t for the grounding ache of Zeb’s bite on his shoulder, Alexsandr might think he was dreaming.

Hera stood behind Draven, looking pleased.

Draven nodded. “Unless you’d prefer to remain unranked,” he offered.

 _Zeb’s a captain. We’ll be peers. It won’t be inappropriate to continue to court him, in human **or** lasat fashion._ “No, sir, that’s more than acceptable.”

“Good. After discussion with General Syndulla, Captain Orrelios, and others from Phoenix Cell, it was clear your efforts as Fulcrum were crucial in their survival. A captaincy is the least we can do to thank you.”

Alexsandr had _not_ expected to hear such words from Draven. The general’s reputation was harsh, that of a man who put up with no nonsense, who made hard calls and expected ruthlessness from his operatives.

To hear _thanks_ from such a man…

Alexsandr was surprised but grateful.

“You’ll remain an Intelligence operative, unless General Syndulla requires your assistance. I know of your preference for field work.”

Of course Draven knew his ISB history, the way he’d avoided any promotion that took him out of the field. “Thank you, sir.”

Draven glanced past him. “That’s all I have for you. You’d better go talk to Captain Orrelios before he has a fit.”

Alexsandr turned and indeed, there was Zeb, pacing in front of the door to the office. Hiding a smile, Alexsandr saluted sharply and waited for dismissal. Draven granted it easily.

Not even daring to let himself smile, Alexsandr held his cool until Draven’s office door closed behind him.

Zeb grabbed his arm and spun him around, until Alexsandr was wrapped in a hug. “How did it go?” he asked, holding Alexsandr at arm’s length after the embrace. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I was gonna walk you here, be with you in the meeting.”

Alexsandr held up the rank tab in answer, feeling a little ashamed that he hadn’t woken his lover.

The sheer relief in Zeb’s eyes was palpable. “Captain!” he said, half a sigh. “I told you, Alex. I told you it’d be okay.”

Raising his eyebrows, Alexsandr decided not to point out that Zeb was obviously as worried as he had been. “You did,” he agreed.

“I need to kiss you,” Zeb said.

Alexsandr laughed. “Here?”

“No, we’re going back to the _Ghost_. So I can do it _properly_.” Zeb’s hand slid down Alexsandr’s arm, entwining their fingers together, and the lasat tugged Alexsandr along behind him as they half-jogged to the ship.

 _Freedom_ rang in Alexsandr’s head the whole way. _I’m a Rebel. I’m a Spectre when they need me. I’m free to be with Zeb in any manner in which I please. And I **please** a lot._

Zeb stopped barely in the hold, still in view of anyone outside, but Alexsandr didn’t fuss. He was too busy kissing Zeb back while being pressed back against the bulkhead. Hands cupping Alexsandr’s ass, Zeb slid him up the wall until the lasat’s neck was craned upwards to keep kissing him.

Alexsandr wrapped his arms around Zeb’s neck. “Promise me something,” he murmured.

“Anything.”

“Despite the favorable outcome, let’s never get stranded in the ice and snow again.”

Zeb laughed. “I’ll do the best I can there, Alex.”

“Good.” Alexsandr kissed Zeb’s forehead. “Now that we’ve established that, I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” Zeb shifted his weight, sliding Alexsandr down a little until they were at eye level.

“Garazeb Orrelios,” he said softly. “I love you. I want you to mark me as I marked you. I want to be yours for the rest of our lives.”

Zeb’s bright green eyes widened a little, but he recovered quickly. “Alex, _love_ , I want that, too.”

“Then take me back to bed. I don’t want to leave our cabin for the rest of the day.”

“Aye. I think we can do that.” Zeb grinned mischievously. “ _Captain Kallus._ ”

Alexsandr threw his head back and laughed: relief and gratitude and love and warmth all flooding through his heart.

Never again would he be left alone, in the cold, to perish – and even if he were, he knew Zeb would always come back for him.

Alexsandr couldn’t ask for anything more.


	11. Epilogue

If it hadn’t been for Zeb, Alex wouldn’t have survived Hoth, not mentally at least.

His lover had made sure their cabin stayed warm and comfy at all time, with blankets – even _heated_ blankets – piled on the bed so that Alex could fend off the cold and the Bahryn flashbacks even when Zeb wasn’t around.

Of course, the preferred method of staying warm was to curl up in Zeb’s arms _while_ under those blankets, but both men had jobs to do that drew them away from the _Ghost_ every day. Zeb worked with the ground troops, preparing the trenches outside the base for a possible Imperial assault, while Alex worked for General Cracken in Intelligence, parsing messages and signals caught in the Hoth system and – his specialty – helping train spies to infiltrate the Empire.

The days were miserable for Alex, even with the distraction of his job, but the nights were warm and cozy and full of love, sometimes physical, sometimes not.

When the Empire finally found them, Alex was curled up in Zeb’s arms, halfway to a deep sleep. Zeb was already there, snoring in Alex’s ear; the lasat wasn’t quiet, but after three and a half years, Alex found the noise soothing.

So soothing, in fact, that they both missed the initial evacuation call. It was only when Rex banged on the cabin door, calling for Zeb to go to his station in the trenches, that they realized anything had happened at all.

“Move!” instructed Rex when they opened the door. “Unless you want to be an Imperial prisoner again, Kallus?”

Alex grumbled, but the words got him moving. He tugged on his coat, kissed Zeb one last time – quickly but fiercely – and ran into the base while Zeb ran outside.

General Cracken was barking orders when he arrived. “Glad you could join us, Captain,” he bit out, obviously stressed. “If you’d like to start packing up your station…?”

Alex knew better than to take offense. “Sir,” he said, and grabbed an empty crate. Datatapes and datapads and flimsi all went into it, notes and codes and info on every spy they currently had in the Empire’s ranks. He knew how vital it was to protect that information; the last thing he wanted was for any informant to suffer as he had.

Once the Intelligence section had been wiped clean, they followed Hera’s instructions in loading up the crates on the various freighters and cruisers with storage areas. The twi’lek kept her calm, directing traffic with ease.

“Alex, you’re on the _Ghost_ ,” she said when it was his turn.

“I’d hope so,” he replied, a poor attempt at a joke.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Just hurry.”

Ezra and Sabine were stacking crates when Alex arrived back at the _Ghost_. Alex joined in helping them, but alarm klaxons sounded again before they’d finished.

A slightly panicked voice announced that the Empire had entered the base and all personnel were to report to their transports.

 _Zeb_ , Alex thought, worried. _If we’re overrun, where is he? Surely they retreated?_

He didn’t have to worry long; the lasat came running up the ramp a minute later, frost coating both armor and fur. Hera followed, and Rex brought up the rear.

“Strap in!” called Hera. “We’re getting out of here!”

They all found places to hunker down, Alex and Ezra in the hold together.

The young Jedi shut his eyes and shuddered. “Cold,” he muttered.

Alex quirked his eyebrows as the _Ghost_ lifted off. “You think?”

Ezra shook his head. “No, not Hoth. The Force. I think… I think Darth Vader is in the base. It feels like a Sith.”

Eyes widening, Alex glanced at the closed ramp, glad they were already in the air. He’d worked with Vader before and had no desire to meet him from this side of the war. “Ashla help anyone who didn’t get to a transport,” he said.

“No kidding.”

The _Ghost_ jerked and bounced as Hera piloted them out of the hangar and into space. Alex could only guess at the turbolaser blasts she was avoiding, but he was certain the Empire had brought overwhelming force. Only a skilled pilot like Hera could get them out, he thought, praying again for the safety of the transports that held most of his Intelligence peers.

The _Ghost_ ’s shuddering stopped, a sure sign they’d broken out of atmosphere and into space. Alex held his breath until he heard the whine of the hyperdrive.

As soon as the sublight engines shut off, signaling their safe getaway, Alex ran up the ladder toward the cockpit.

He didn’t make it there. Zeb nearly crashed into him in the hallway outside their cabin, grabbing Alex by the shoulders and pulling him into a crushing hug.

It wasn’t the most comfortable hug – Zeb and his armor were both still cold from being in the trenches – but Alex was hardly going to complain. They’d made another impossible getaway from the Empire and Zeb was safe and uninjured. That counted as a win, even if they’d lost Echo Base.

Zeb rubbed his cheek in Alex’s hair. “We’re all here,” he said, sounding surprised.

“We’re all here,” Alex confirmed, turning his head so he could return the scenting gesture. “Your people?”

“About half,” Zeb said, voice heavy with regret. “They had walkers and ground troops both. Once the shield went, we were toast.”

Alex nodded. He’d been right about the Empire bringing overwhelming force, then. “As long as you made it,” he whispered, feeling a little guilty that he wasn’t more upset over Zeb’s lost troops. “As long as you made it, that’s all that matters to me.”

Zeb managed a smile. “Alex, if I’ve got you to come home to, I will _always_ make it.”

“You’d better,” Alex warned. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll have to resurrect you so I can kill you myself.”

Zeb kissed his forehead. “If you wanted to kill me, you shoulda done that back on Bahryn,” he replied, just as he did every time Alex made the same threat. The lasat’s smile turned wicked. “That was your best chance. Not like you were ever gonna win a fair fight.”

Alex laughed, the stress bleeding from his system. “Oh, is that so?” he asked. “I seem to recall a few fights that would have ended poorly for you if you hadn’t had Jedi around.”

“Maybe,” Zeb allowed, holding Alex’s head in his hands. “Maybe not. Fact is, you didn’t win.”

Alex smiled. “Oh, I think I won in the end.”

Zeb leaned in, kissing him solidly. “That you did,” Zeb whispered. “And so did I.”

Alex had no desire to argue against that.

They were on Endor and Zeb had waited long enough. He and Alex had been together for nearly five years, quite a long time by lasat courting standards.

Zeb had tried waiting for a romantic time to propose, but they were in the middle of a war and that perfect moment hadn’t ever arisen. So, as he was wont to do, Zeb decided to be direct.

They crouched in the Endor undergrowth, watching Imperials move outside a bunker, timing the patrols and numbering the stormtroopers.

“Psst,” Zeb whispered, just loud enough Alex could hear him. “Alex.”

“Shush,” Alex replied, obviously focused on the task at hand. He held his bo-rifle tightly, which told Zeb he was more than a little nervous.

“ _Alex_ ,” repeated Zeb, a little more insistently.

Alex looked at him, irritation on his face, but Zeb knew he didn’t really mean it. “What is it, Zeb?”

“Marry me,” Zeb said, simply and plainly.

“W– what?” Alex stuttered. He gaped at Zeb, stiff and still. Obviously, Zeb really caught him off-guard.

“Marry me,” Zeb repeated. “Tonight, if we can. Hera can do it for us, or, karabast, I’ll ask Admiral Ackbar if I have to.”

Alex shook his head, blinking slowly. “You’re serious.”

“’Course I am,” Zeb said, grinning. “Alex, I’m tired of waitin’ for the right moment or for the war to end. You’re already mine, Alexsandr Kallus, but I want everyone to know it.”

Zeb watched as Alex wrestled with it inwardly. He’d known Alex probably wouldn’t give an instant ‘yes’ – the man had to _think_ about every kriffing thing – but waiting on an answer made Zeb’s stomach twist into knots.

_What if he says no? What if I’ve completely misjudged everything?_

Alex blinked again. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Garazeb Orrelios.”

Zeb’s grin spread and he felt ready to take on the whole Empire by himself. “Good. That’s all I needed to know before we do this.”

A smile spread across Alex’s face, the kind he usually saved for Zeb and Zeb alone. “I suppose that’s all I needed to know, too.”

Zeb picked up one of Alex’s hands and kissed it, ignoring the looks from their company of ground troops. “I love you,” he said. “And I don’t want you to ever doubt it.”

“I don’t,” Alex assured him. “And I love you, too. That won’t ever change.”

“Good. ‘Cause we got a long life ahead of us.” Zeb looked back at the Imperial bunker. “Unlike these guys.”

Alex nodded, his face falling back into serious soldier mode. He looked around at their troopers, and held his fist up; the signal to get ready to attack.

Zeb prepped to run at the bunker, adjusting his grip on his bo-rifle. Just one more battle.

One more battle and then he’d sweep Alex off his feet, take him to Lira San, and spend the rest of his life kriffing the man until he couldn’t walk.

Zeb couldn’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> There are two sequels to this fic, but they deal with darker themes. Please check tags before you continue! If you need to, stop with this fic!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr ([hixystix](https://hixystix.tumblr.com/) & [x-wing-junkie](https://x-wing-junkie.tumblr.com/)) or twitter ([@fandomhixystix](https://twitter.com/fandomhixystix)) and flail over Rebels and Kalluzeb! New friends always welcome!


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